


fly with the turbulence

by acastle



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, M/M, Minor Character Death, Minor Violence, Superheroes
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-17
Updated: 2015-03-17
Packaged: 2018-03-17 02:56:39
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 44,069
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3512606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/acastle/pseuds/acastle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"We've been trying to track down certain figures to form a defense team. Particular people with the X-gene who were shown to have exceptional capabilities. A special breed of the special breed, somewhat."</p>
<p>When the world is close to imminent destruction at the hands of a powerful group of mutants, five individuals are put together to form a team to respond to the problem.</p>
<p> </p>
<p>(or Niall is a literal angel, and Harry is really strong. Like, really.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	fly with the turbulence

**Author's Note:**

> RAUBTIER (Ra̱u̱b·tier, German) - Predator.
> 
>  
> 
> (I'm quite sure this could have been better, and it's much too long, but oh well. Disclaimers for any mistakes and inaccuracies, they are completely my fault. Also a shift in tenses. They're quite annoying, but sometimes necessary.
> 
> I used The Wanted as villains. I'm unoriginal as hell. Sorry. I do like Nathan, but.
> 
> I've wanted to write for these two for a long time, but I could never really find my footing with their characterizations. Not quite sure if I have it down, but. Consider this my Frankenstein.)

He didn't mean to break Nick Grimshaw's hand. Really.

All he wanted to do was to tell him off gently, to try and get him to lay off Danny from his Psychology class; how was he supposed to know that the bones in Nick's hand would crush and break once it came in contact with his abdomen when he tried to punch him.

He was fit, he knew that, but surely he wasn't _that_ fit.

Nick had keeled over, tears in his eyes as he sobbed, clutching the wrist of his obviously very injured hand, whereas Harry didn't feel a thing. Not to say he didn't feel bad about breaking someone's hand, of course he felt awful for somehow causing that, but he hardly felt the fist as it had attempted to bring him pain.

He didn't understand. It wasn't like Nick was weak, though tall and lanky, so really, he should have felt _something._

He just didn't get why it hadn't hurt at all.

 

*

 

"I don't know what was going through your mind when you did that, Harry-"

"But I didn't," he repeats for what feels like the thirtieth time, fully prepared to have have his words fall on deaf ears. His mother rambles on as they exit the campus, students eyeing him cautiously as they walk over to the parking lot.

"The poor boy, a broken hand, and you didn't even get a scratch on you," his mum goes on to say, shaking her head as she searches her purse for her car keys. "Harry, honestly, you're in uni now, I'd expect you to be more mature than this."

But I didn't mean to break anything, mum," he says quietly. "I didn't even lift a hand or anything. He just, I don't know, punched me."

"And what, he broke his hand when it collided with your stomach?"

"Well, yes, that is what happened-"

"Harry," she says, tone firm as they come to a stop in front of her black Jaguar (a gift from Robin, and  god, he _hates_ it). "Please. You're nearly a grown man now. Start acting like one and own up to what you did."

He doesn't say anything, knowing she'll appreciate his silence more than the truth at this point, and at least that would make her think that he was at least remorseful about the incident.

"Well, I seemed to have left my keys up in the administration office," she says, giving up her search through her bag. "Wait here, I'll just go and get it. We need to pay that boy a visit and I expect you give him a proper apology."

"Yeah, alright," he murmurs, staring down at the ground as she disappears back into the building.

Poor Nick. He'd have a right time trying to wank off now (amongst other things).

And why were his abs suddenly rock hard all of a sudden? It just didn't seem right. Was he sick or something? Did he contract some disease, or become patient zero for some new virus, more like?

Harry felt proper awful.

He sighs, turning to face the fucking Jaguar, and rests his head on the roof. He balls his hands up into fists, and presses them to the cool metal of the door to the backseat, hoping the touch might relax him a little bit.

Instead, he hears the crunch of metal being pressed, and feels the material caving in around his knuckles. He lifts his head from the roof, eyes wide open and hands flying off the door as if they had been burned, and looks down to see the shiny metal, no longer smooth but now with an imprint of what seems to be his fists, the door all bent and ruined as it had cracked under the pressure of his hands ( _honestly_ , though, it seriously was just a gentle press).

His mum is going to _kill him._

"Fucking shit," he groans out, running a hand through his curls in distress. He honestly didn't understand what was happening to him, and he was going to have a right time trying to explain what happened to the car.

_No one is ever going to believe me._

"Well, I'll believe you."

"Bloody hell," he exclaims, jumping back from the car and whipping his head to the side to see a tall man with a strong, burly build, dark brown hair cropped close to the scalp, and he would look very menacing if it weren't for his kind eyes that crinkled slightly, eyes that are staring at him, clearly very amused with a smirk on his face.

"Quite a dent on that car there," the man says with a smile, voice deep and almost booming, laced heavily with an Irish brogue. "You must have thrown quite a punch to have it end up looking like that."

"Oh, no," Harry says quickly, shaking his head. "I just, uh, well, there were these kids, and they, um, they threw rocks - ah, nevermind," he deflates, abandoning the lie when he sees the man's smirk grow even wider, and his eyebrows start waggling. He look like he's trying his very hardest not to laugh. "You wouldn't believe me, though. I don't quite believe it myself."

"Try me," Big Man states.

Harry stares at his, not fully convinced that he should do this, but he feels an odd sensation in his head, an almost tangible tug that reaches down to his spine, and he's automatically mimicking his earlier position on the car, unclear on when he decided to do it.

He presses his fists against the door gently; the metal gives in again easily, causing the metal to bend further, and he swears quietly.

His mum is _definitely_ going to kill him.

"Fantastic," Big Man grins, looking very pleased. "Never seen one as strong as you before, and you'd only just discovered your powers."

"Powers?"

"Yeah, you heard me. You'd be a force to be reckoned with, for sure; with a bit o' training you'd be unstoppable, but you could do with some control-"

"I'm sorry," Harry cuts in, and he thinks he's gone a bit mad, because they cannot possibly be talking about this. "Did you say, 'powers'?"

"Yes, your powers," Big Man tells him calmly. "You possess the X-gene, a rare mutation found in approximately only one out of 5.6 million people. The gene distinguishes a person from others with a normal genetic make-up by giving the person unique superhuman attributes, powers, as you may call them. You, as it seems, have incredible super-strength. And you are, by far, the most powerful strongman I've seen yet, and you've only just begun to develop your abilities. Your potential is incredible."

Alright. He has _definitely_ gone mad.

"I'm sorry, I just don't think that's possible-"

"Harry," he continues, "it seems impossible, but you are part of a rare breed. _We_ are part of a rare breed, and-"

"Hang on," Harry interrupts again, because _honestly,_ this is too much to handle. "How'd you know my name? What else do you know about me?"

Big Man scoffs, rolling his eyes. "I know everything about you, Harry Edward Styles. Don't test me." He pauses. "This is real, I've no clue on what the 'science of deductions' is, sorry, and there's no need to think that I've gone off the deep end, that's quite rude."

"How did," Harry starts out, because _how in the fuck did he answer all that,_ but shakes his head and thinks better of it. In a last ditch effort, he tries, "Maybe you're just incredibly smart? Can read body language?"

"If only I were that perceptive," he answers with a gentle smile, "unfortunately, my X-gene is to blame for all this, I'm just a telepath."

"A-"

"I can read your mind," he answers before the question is even asked, "I have access to every corner of your memory system, can see things even you don't remember, things you've seen or tried to forget about. I can communicate through brain wavelengths, know your truths. And I can also control a person's senses, control decisions and actions-"

"So, manipulation?"

"I prefer to refer it as influencing," he answers with a wry smile.

"So you have a talented mind."

"It's a bit much to take the first time 'round, but you get used to it," Big Man says, stretching out his hand for Harry to take (which he does, yet very warily). "My name is Paul, it's good to meet you. And you can stop calling me 'Big Man,' now," he adds with a smug grin. "Though it's not far from what I really am."

"So you have super-strength as well?" Harry asks uneasily, suddenly wanting to remove his hand from Paul's grasp.

He laughs, the sound loud and oddly comforting, and he says, "No. I've got something better."

The hand that's got Harry's in a firm grip quickly changes color, his flesh turning into shining steel that glints in the sunlight, and his hold gets colder, tighter, tighter, tighter, until Harry gasps at the crushing sensation, and grips back reflexively.

Paul groans, separating their hands quickly, and inspects his (now metal) hand.

"Huh," he says, looking quite impressed at the damage, "Good on you, Styles, you _are_ strong. It'll take weeks to get these dents out, though," he opens his palm out, his fingers look very slightly crushed. Harry sputters out an apology, at which Paul laughs and waves at dismissively. "Nothing I've never gotten before. It's a lot worse when I get dents on my forehead, shows up when I look normal, too."

"Where-"

"I'm from the Secret Intelligence Service, Mutant Division, but we all call it 8 to simplify things. Used to be an agent, but I'm in charge of recruitment now."

"This is actually happening," Harry says, awed and confused and so goddamn _confused_ and he doesn't know what to think. "No fucking way."

"It is, and I wouldn't normally break it to you this way, but times haven't been kind, to us or the civilians," Paul says, suddenly looking much more subdued and serious, eyes stormy. "I know you've heard the news. Disappearances, murders, assassinations of political leaders. Months of research and recon have shown that a rogue group of mutants, individuals who have powers," he explains at Harry's look of curiosity, "are behind these attacks. Evidence shows that they can't be more than seven, but they are powerful, and are looking to cause more damage."

"And what does any of this have to do with me?"

"We've been trying to track down certain figures to form a defense team," he continues quietly, "Particular people with the X-gene who were shown to have exceptional capabilities. A special breed of the special breed, somewhat."

"And you seem to think that I'm part of that breed?" he says, not quite convinced. "I'm sorry,  Paul, this is too much-"

"Harry, you don't understand-"

"Yes, I agree completely, absolutely, I _don't_ understand," he says, a little bit exasperated, a little bit concerned on why his mum is taking so long to get her keys (and he suspects Paul has a lot to do with that). "I don't get why you're here for me, I don't get what makes _me_ exceptional. I just got this super-strength whatever now, so I don't think I can be of much help, I'm sorry."

"You seem to be missing the fact that this is much bigger than any of us-"

"I'm not denying whatever you're saying," he replies, bringing his voice down to a whisper when he sees some of the students coming out of the building looking at them curiously, "I believe you, crazy as it all is. I know this is important, I've seen the news, I know what's been happening, but I can't just up and leave-"

"I won't try to explain to you, Harry," Paul says, nodding as if he understands what he's saying. "But, if you would let me show you what may happen should we fail in our mission-"

He brings the index and middle fingers of his right hand to his temple, and closes his eyes. Before Harry can remark on how strange he looks, a vision clouds over his mind, a memory that isn't his.

There is destruction everywhere; fires at practically every corner he can see, people, worn and tired from marching on in lines, guards stationed every few meters, lashing out lightning bolts from their hands or kicking with supernatural strength at the occasion civilian, seemingly for the fun of it.

Mechanical creatures, what seem to be robots with unusually fluid motions and sinister expressions, tower over the queue of people.

He sees one man fall to the ground in a coughing fit, unable to get up when the guards order him to. A robot glides over, its hand transforming into a gun, and shoots the man dead.

Harry feels like throwing up. He wants to get out of here. He hates this, he-

"Gemma?" he hears himself croak when he sees his sister, head down as she marches on, an arm looped through a frail, weak-looking lady, that looks as if she could just crumble and die in the line.

Harry feels all the air vanish when he realizes it's his mother.

He can't breathe. He needs to get out, he can't breathe-

"I'm sorry for that, but you needed to see," he hears Paul say, and he realizes with a start that he's been released from the vision. He inhales heavily, coughing as he bends over with his hands on his knees, trying to to regulate his breathing. "You need to know what will happen if we don't act now."

"But," Harry tries, his breathing still laboured, "my family, all those people, why-"

"They plan on attacking those without the X-gene," Paul states, his mouth a grim line. "It's not just hunting and murder, it's total extinction. I understand that you can't quite agree, Harry," Paul tells him, laying a hand on his shoulder, his grip firm but warm. "But I sense that you're not the type to just stand and watch the world fall around you."

"I-I can't just go in the way I am," he replies, voice quiet and hesitant. "I wouldn't be of much help."

"I will train you, to my utmost ability," Paul's voice is sure and unwavering. "But you are part of a very exclusive specie, Harry. You are already very strong. I cannot fathom why you think you won't be of any help."

He honestly can't think clearly right now. This is too much to process, too much to accept, too much too much _too much._

"I-I," Harry stammers out, willing himself to decide, willing himself to say 'yes, I'll do it,' because he knows it would be the right thing to do, it would be the best thing to do, but what comes out of his mouth is-

"I'm sorry. I can't do it. I'm really, really sorry."

While Paul looks calm, more resigned than disappointed, his eyes are downcast, and Harry senses he's more downtrodden than he's letting on, which just makes him want to apologize even more.

"It's alright," Paul replies to Harry's wordless apology. "I knew this mission would be a long shot coming in."

He nods towards the building once, and almost immediately, Harry hears the telltale signs of his mother's high heels approaching.

"I wish you all the best, Harry. Use your powers responsibly, and stay safe," he tells him, and he turns on his heels and leave.

Harry watches him go, heart feeling heavier the further they get, and he suspects he's made the wrong choice.

"What are you staring at?" his mum says to him once she reaches the car, keys in one hand as she looks on to see where Harry is facing.

"Don't you-don't you see him?" he asks her, Paul still well within his range of sight.

"What are you talking about, love, we're the only ones here," Anne says, shaking her head. "Hmm, should be getting it in for a wash soon, rain doesn't look good on a black car," she tells herself, running her hand at the top of the roof, staring straight at the area Harry ruined with his newfound abilities.

_She doesn't see it. She doesn't see any of it._

' _Better get that fixed, she won't see it for now, but other people will_ ,' Paul's voice drawls through his head, and when Harry looks up, he sees him smirking at him from a distance with a deft wink.

"Alright, hospital first. Come on."

Harry nods, not hearing a word she just said, still staring at the man who could read his mind and turn himself into steel.

 

*

 

He runs on autopilot from the moment he sits on the passenger seat of his mum's car. He doesn't remember apologizing to Nick (who had looked more frightened than angry when Harry walked into his hospital room), doesn't remember stopping by the grocer to buy ingredients for their Bi-Weekly Family Dinner, doesn't remember parking the car or greeting his sister when she answers the door, doesn't remember helping with the prep for the roast chicken or the custard for the crumble or-

Fuck. He's losing it.

"Kitten," Gemma mutters, elbowing his side. (And kicking his foot under the table, for good measure. He frowns at her; she smiles toothily.) "You've been awfully quiet today. Something wrong?"

He blinks at her, once, twice, then looks across the table, quite relieved to see their mum and Robin deep in conversation themselves, taking little bites of baby potatoes and chicken between sentences. He glances down at his own plate quickly, and sees it's still mostly full, just mostly moved around  bit for show.

"No, just tired. Accidentally broke someone's hand today," he supplies, not really knowing what else to add.

"Yeah, we were just talking about it when we were making the raspberries," Gemma tells him with a pointed look.

He doesn't remember that conversation either.

He doesn't want to have to talk about how when he looks at his sister, he recalls the illusion of her much too vividly. How defeated she looked, and if Gemma Styles was anything, it was _never_ defeated. He doesn't want to word vomit how scared he is, how he doesn't want to remember anything from that fucking vision, but it's impossible.

He doesn't want to have to look across him and see his mother, happy and smiling, and cry, because he knows how she would look like when everything had been pulled from right under her feet.

He doesn't want to have to face the very possible reality that it may very well happen to them, and because he had declined to join a team that might prevent all of it from happening, should that future become realized, face the fact that he hadn't done enough to save them.

"Sorry, it's been a long day," he answers, giving her a look that he hopes conveys _do not ask me about it._

She stares at him for a moment, then nods, patting his cheek and reaching over to have at his ignored food, and at the moment, he could honestly not be more grateful for Gemma, who doesn't ask and doesn't push.

He skips dessert too. Had a feeling custard and raspberry crumble wouldn't sit well on an empty stomach.

 

*

 

He manages to have only one mishap when he gets ready for bed (accidentally smashed the wall in and broke the tiles when he slipped in the shower and slapped the wall to balance himself), but when he lies down, he becomes hyper aware of everything around him. His bed is much too soft, the pillow too hot, and the ceiling's paint peeling at the edges, other areas rain-damaged from when the rainfall had seeped in and dripped down, down, down.

His eyes zero in on the little plastic glow-in-the-dark stars, their glowing ability long gone from age, scattered all over his ceiling, one of the final few remnants of his childhood remaining in the room. He and Gemma had begged their dad to install the constellations for them, back when they still shared a room and before she had convinced their mum to convert the guest room into her own separate bedroom.

He remembers looking forward going to bed at night, excited to turn off the lights and see the sky, see a little bit of magic before he went to sleep.

It completely breaks his resolve.

Really, it should have been during dinner, when his sister had asked him what was wrong, or when he and his mum had been washing the dishes, and she had eyed him with a concerned look on her face, but keeping quiet up until they had finished, wherein she had pulled him into a hug and told him she loved him, but it's the stars on his ceiling, little pieces of plastic tacked on to the plaster, that sets him off.

That's years worth of memories and excitement and joy up on there. With Des and Anne and Gemma and everyone and he won't let anyone take his stars, metaphorical and physical, away from him. So he'll fight, or try to.

But fuck. He doesn't know how to contact Paul. He hadn't left a number or anything.

_Fuck._

_But didn't he say he was a telepath? He's got a talented mind or someshit, if I just called out - fuck. Fuck. Fucking shit. God. I could give it a go, but fuck._

Feeling extremely foolish, Harry closed his eyes, trying to make himself comfortable on the pillows, and he thinks, _Paul?_

Nothing.

_Paul?_

Still nothing.

_Big Man?_

Not even a beat. He's more desperate than irritated at this point, wishing he could somehow contact Paul before he changes his mind.

_God, this probably won't work and I'll feel really stupid, but fuck it, I'm in. I'm in, I'll fight for your team._

Silence. Then-

_'I'll come for you in two weeks. I hope that it's enough time for you to settle all your affairs.'_

He has no idea on how to respond, so he nods, hoping that Paul would get the message.

It's quiet for a moment, then his voice fills his head again, saying, _'Thank you, Harry. I know this isn't easy for you, and that I'm asking a lot, but you must know, we really appreciate it. I will do everything in my power to keep your family safe.'_

He waits for more, but after what seems to be hours of silence, he comes to the conclusion that he's alone in his mind again.

It's much too full.

He tries to settle on his too soft bed, his too hot pillow, and he feels the tear tracks run down the sides of his face as he forces himself to sleep.

 

*

 

When they first started growing, his parents had thought the worst.

Two little lumps of bone, cartilage and skin between his shoulder blades, growing at an infinitesimal but very sure pace on Niall's back.

They had consulted every doctor they could afford on Bobby's humble butcher's salary, and one they couldn't even hope to pay off out of desperation, but none of them could explain what exactly was going on with him. They had exhausted and discussed every possible option, had read every medical journal available to them, but they could not figure out what was happening to the child.

They thought about surgeries to remove the unwanted parts, but it was deemed much too risky, too many unknown consequences and effects. They've tried herbal, medicinal, liquid remedies to try and stunt the growth, but they were all ineffective, and frankly, Niall hated them and the way they tasted.

He didn't mind them, though, the little lumps; they weren't bothering him, and his clothes covered them well enough. All he wanted to do was watch his Da chop up some meat, or, when he wasn't ignoring him, have Greg teach him how to play the fiddle. And that was how life was.

The thing is, as he grew, it grew as well.

The lumps developed through the years; by the time he turned thirteen, they were more than a foot in length each, covered in white feathers, and his clothes could no longer hide him. He hardly ever stepped foot out of the house, his family going through great lengths to hide the fact that the youngest had grown _wings._

By the time he turned eighteen, the wings had grown to be as tall as he was, the snowy white of his feathers almost shining, clean and pristine.

His mother hated them, as they took up so much unnecessary space and were always making a mess of things. Greg didn't like them much either, said they were useless and he had a habit of pulling on the feathers when he was annoyed or mad at Niall, which was, truth be told, quite often.

His Da was different though. He liked to call him "Angel."

Niall still didn't mind them that much. Didn't really care that he never went out anymore, never did anything but help out at home or do whatever that could keep him from the public eye. He never really liked the kids his age anyway. They always picked on him for being too small, too scrawny, too loud and obnoxious. He didn't care, he'd be the last one laughing anyway, they weren't the ones with a giant pair of wings.

The excess weight was quite inconvenient, though.

 

*

 

Whenever Niall started to feel that gnaw, that irrepressible need to stretch out his wings and just _get out_ , Bobby would cover him in their largest coat, and take him a few counties over to an abandoned farmhouse with field after field of tall grass and not another person in sight.

It wasn't a lot, but it never took much to make Niall happy anyway.

"16 paces across, they're growin' mighty quickly," his father says, smoothing out the feathers at the end of the wing with his hand.

"Hope they stop growin' soon, though, they're getting heavy," he replies with a chuckle, ruffling the feathers a little bit before stretching out his wings even more.

"I reckon they're big enough for you to start flying," Bobby tells him with a smile.

"I don't think so."

"Well, we can try. And no one will see you here."

"I'd rather not fall on my arse or hurt myself, Da," he tells him seriously with a slight frown. "And who's to say that they even work that way?"

"Who's to say they don't?" his father replies, smile still on his face. "We'll start out easy. That way, you won't get too banged up."

"I don't know-"

"You have to have gotten these for a reason," he says, still smiling, but tone more serious. "I don't think they were given to you just to weigh you down. I do think it would do you good to just try."

And Niall could never say no to Bobby, so he found himself climbing to the top of the farmhouse, looking down at the haystack piled to soften the landing on the very solid-looking ground a good fifteen feet below. His father watches him with rapt eyes, the fucking smile still on his face.

"Whenever you're ready, son."

_Which is never_ , he doesn't say out loud, but he closes his eyes anyway, sending up a quick prayer before unfurling his wings, steeling himself, and jumping off.

He flapped them to the best of his very limited ability, and found that they felt much heavier in the pursuit of flight. He hovered in the air for a few moments, gaining maybe an inch or so, before the wings exhausted themselves and he fell through the air and toppled down to the pile of hay, rolling until he landed on the ground with an _'oof!'_

"Oh, that's nice of ya," he says when he looks up to see Bobby laughing at him, eyes all scrunched up.

"Well, nothing but a bit of practice to get you up in the air," his father says with a smile.

"No-"

"Go on, then! Up you get!"

 

*

 

It took three more years of going back to the farmhouse and practicing, but eventually, Niall found himself flying for hours at a time with no hardship, and seamlessly reaching heights of several hundred feet.

The first time he took flight and reached the clouds, Bobby had laughed, the sound loud and clear as a bell as he went higher, higher, higher up into the atmosphere.

Niall didn't see him cry with happiness as he soared through the skies above him.

 

*

 

It's been more than two hundred years since the first time Niall touched the clouds.

He's seen a lot. Too much, but he's a little bit thankful for it. It grounds him, vital especially because he's off it more often than not.

He's looking down over seemingly endless plains of green, but knows from memory that he can't go too far, lest the quiet town a little far down will have something to get either much too excited or too worried about.

The tips of his wings skim the clouds, light and unfailingly beautiful no matter where he flies, and, as he often does, he thinks back to the day he first flew, first gained and lost his freedom, when he knew that nothing would be the same.

It feels like a lifetime ago. In many ways, it was.

Bobby died from a sudden stroke, a few weeks after he turned 26.

Maura, from tuberculosis, a full month before he turned 29.

Greg was able to see his first grandchild have a beautiful daughter before his heart simply stopped beating, and Niall was sure he was supposed to be turning 72 a fortnight from that date.

He was sure, though it seems he had not aged a day since he was 23.

The earth below him had, however. Vastly and quickly, and often, overwhelmingly. He had learned to grow with it as best as he could, and he had to be hardened, because he had seen too much. But he still enjoyed himself too much, laughed too loudly, loved too deeply, lived so lightly, for the very same reason.

He looks down, feeling a tug in his mind that he had not felt in a good while, and sees, right in the middle of the field, a brawny sort of man looking up and watching him soar.

He knows immediately that he didn't just chance upon him, and gets another tug in his mind, and a voice, pleasant and warm and deep, saying, ' _Would you mind a word, Mr. Horan?_ '

A telepath. Been a while since he's encountered one of them.

He folds in his arms, pinning them to his sides and aims for the ground, feeling the rush and hearing the whistle of the wind in his ears, a sensation he never really enjoys, and within seconds, he's landing gently on his feet next to the pair.

"Would you like a shirt?" the man asks him kindly.

He laughs, loud and uninhibited, palming his hard stomach, developed after decades upon decades of training and fighting. "No, mate, I'm fine. Thank you for the offer. Would appreciate it if you'd stop trying to invade my brain though, the feeling's not very nice. Could just talk to me normally," he tacks on after he feels another few pulls in his head, as if someone were trying to gain access into his mind.

The telepath's eyes widen, and then looks as if he were on the verge of bursting out with laughter, the corners of his mouth fighting to stay down.

"You can-"

"I've known a lot of people who can do what you do, I've learned how to block them a bit and know when they're trying to breach, over the years. 'M not very good at it, mind, but I've gotten by," he says, smiling as he offers his hand out to them. "Niall Horan, but I guess you knew that already. You from 8, then?"

"Paul Higgins," Paul says, and he shakes Niall's hand firmly, before answering, "Yes, former intelligence operative and agent, now Head of Internal Affairs and Recruitment."

"And what should I be calling you?"

"Well, I'm fine with just 'Paul,' but there have been occasions when I've responded to 'Dad' or 'Princess-'"

"No, I didn't mean that," Niall laughs again, waving his hand, "I meant, your codename. What are you known as, among the teams?"

"People call me 'Steel,'" Paul answers briefly with a small but no less genuine smile.

"Oh? Bit of a stretch of a name for a telepath, innit?" Niall asks, interested.

"I, um, well, I can also turn my body into steel."

"A metalman!" He exclaims. "I've only ever encountered one other in my life. He was fighting on the other side, though, so we weren't very well acquainted outside the field."

"Colossus."

"That's 'im!" Niall says, grinning widely at Paul, who was bowing his head to somewhat conceal his reddening face. "It was quite a while ago, over in Berlin-"

"In World War II," Paul adds quietly, head still bent low. "You were with Team Allied at the time."

"Yeah! Mate, you have better memory than me, probably," Niall smiles at him warmly, which makes Paul blush even harder, refusing to look him in the eye.

"I've, um, admired you for a very long time, sir. Big fan, all that."

"There's no need for that, Niall's fine," he says, wanting to laugh himself but actually quite surprised that Paul, in all his burliness and intimidating stature, would know who he was.

"When I first discovered my mutations, I made myself try to find out more about those who were like me," Paul tells him, going red to the tips of his ears. "I found some stuff on Team Allied when I was younger, mostly on how people were trying to debunk its existence, but. You're a legend, sir. I became an agent because of you, they worship you over at the academy and the agency, have all the files and documents from World War II and all your other missions, all your other teams from over the years. Sparrow's known as one of the greats. Saved over twenty thousand people from that one bombing single-handedly."

"I remember that," Niall says, rubbing his neck at the memory. "What did they say it was?"

"Flying ace maneuvered the planes away, struck them down to the bottom of the ocean."

"Well, it's not completely a lie. I was the ace, but didn't need a plane or anything," Niall laughs, wings unfurling and spreading behind him, as if to emphasize his point. "They weren't really 'struck down,' though, just dismantled them slowly 'til they couldn't stay in the air anymore."

"Witnesses said an 'angel with wings' saved them."

"I have wings, but I'm no angel," Niall says, a finality in his voice that makes Paul drop the subject.

"I, I have a mission for you."

"Of course you do."

"You've seen what's been happening," Paul says, watching Niall with careful eyes.

"I'm aware," he replies, voice lacking his usual mirth. "So you're forming a team."

"I am."

Niall considers him, silent for all of two minutes, then he says, "I'm in."

Paul stares at him in surprise, and Niall goes on to say by way of explanation, "I don't have these just to weigh me down."

He spreads his wings behind him even further, flapping them until he's a few feet off the ground.

"I," Paul tries to start out, but comes up short. He gulps once, and says instead, "Thank you. Just, thank you."

"No need for that," Niall waves him off, "I'm assuming you'll just find me when you need me again. Won't make it hard for you and your people to find me."

He makes to fly away, but he feels another tug in his mind, the sensation running down through his spine.

"What is it?" he turns back to look at Paul, who's staring at the ground and even redder than before.

Paul doesn't say anything for another minute, before he asks quietly, "At the risk of sounding stupid, you used to be brunette."

Niall laughs, loud and frankly not expecting that, and he runs a hand through his blonde hair, not particularly a very good dye job, but he had to do it himself; very well couldn't go to a hairdresser to help him.

"If you've been staring at the same face in the mirror for as long as I have, then you'd want a bit of change, too," he answers simply, still chuckling, before he flies up again to chase the clouds.

 

*

 

The facility's just as cold-looking as Harry expected.

Some guy in a generic black suit takes his bags as soon as he gets out of the car Paul had sent for him and gives him a key in exchange, presumably for his room, and he walks into the main building, probably seven stories high, all glass and steel and seriousness. It's easily the highest point around, with other structures spread throughout the area that seems to go on for miles, and they all look the same. Gray concrete, steel, glass and white walls, pristine to  fault.

He's led to a room on the second floor, walls of floor to ceiling glass, and the only furniture is a long table surrounded by leather swivel chairs. He sees two other people, assumingly his teammates, sitting together on one end of the table, one with feathery brown hair and a rather pointed face, eyes a stormy blue, and he's attempting to draw on the surface of the table with a marker, but the other person pushes away his hand repeatedly, sometimes slapping it impatiently. Harry notes the four chevrons on his arm, a strong square jaw, and despite the occasional slaps he's dishing out to his companion, he looks genuinely quite kind.

Harry feels himself flush with nervousness and a twinge of what he identifies as regret; these two clearly know each other and won't have much of a problem working together. He doesn't know how he's going to fare with the others, doesn't know how he's going to fare with his own powers.

"New blood!" the vandal exclaims all of a sudden, spotting Harry standing off to the side. Harry flushes when the other boy turns to look at him, but he also can't help but feel a little relieved; they look to be around the same age as him.

"Don't scare him off, Lou," Chevron admonishes, and he smiles warmly at Harry, getting up from his seat and holding out his hand. "I'm Liam. This is Louis. We're assuming you're here because of Paul?"

He nods, taking Liam's hand in an admittedly pathetic grip (but if Liam notices, he doesn't say anything, and just smiles even wider), not really trusting himself to say anything other than, "Harry."

"Good to meet you, mate," Louis flings himself across the table, half lying on top of it, stretching his hand out for Harry to shake weakly. "Excited for the mission?"

"No," Harry blurts out, and he wants to slap himself silly, but they both look at him kindly, no sign of judgement on their faces.

"That's alright, no one's ever really ready," Liam tells him, offering him to sit on his other side. "Me and this one over here have been in the academy since we were fourteen to train and learn about all this. I'm at the top of the class, and Lou never studies or anything so he bombs the written tests, but he more than makes up for it when it comes to the practicals, so he's not all bad, but really, no amount of training and obstacle courses can prepare you for what's happening out there-"

Harry doesn't have the heart to tell Liam, who's still going on and on about the 'academy' and his experiences with other mutants throughout his time there, looking so earnest and genuine, that he actually isn't helping to calm him. At all.

Louis looks up from where he's doodling on the table to look at Harry knowingly, rolling his eyes at Liam's never-ending stream of chatter, and he slaps him across the back of his head, saying, "You're not helping, twatface."

"Lou, don't," Liam whines, trying to push the marker away, but Louis had already drawn something incredibly phallic onto the tabletop, and proceeded to add his signature by the right corner of his art.

"Don't vandalize my facility, Mr. Tomlinson, the government isn't funding 8 to replace furniture with dicks drawn on them," Paul comes in through the door suddenly, presence immediately commanding. Behind him, another person walks in, small frame dwarfed in a large trenchcoat sweeping the floor, blonde hair whipped in different directions from the winds, but his eyes.

Harry feels a shock, like ice cold water without all the unpleasantness, down to his toes, when blue blue blue eyes lock upon his.

Blondie smiles easily, nodding at everyone in the room, full on grinning when he stares at Harry as he takes the seat right across him, settling down carefully as he adjusts the coat around him.

"He's late," Paul mutters when he looks around the room, at the four of them seated in front of him, and he's sighing before handing them each a folder, thick with documents and pictures. "We'll have to start without him, we're running behind enough as it is, because this one made it hard for us to reach him," he gestures with a nod over to Blondie.

"Your lot found me easily enough, I told you I wouldn't make it hard for you to find me," he replies with a smile, Irish accent coming on strong, and Harry feels its warmth wash over him, instantly comforting.

"But getting you to the ground was a different story," Paul answers back curtly, but he's obviously fighting back a grin all the same.

"But, wouldn't it be better if we wait for whoever's missing, sir?" Liam cuts in, folder still closed unlike Louis's, who's snapping the cap off his marker to deface the photos in his file. "So he won't be behind?"

"He doesn't need the briefing, he's the one who provided us all this in the first place," Paul replies easily, opening his own folder and laying it down on the table in front of him. "Welcome to the Secret Intelligence Service, Mutant Division. 8 is quite glad to have all of you here, and we wish this were under better circumstances, but times are desperate, and we need all the help we can get.

"In the past four months, there've been multiple disappearances, massacres, unnatural phenomena, and powerful people, influential people from all over the world have been kidnapped and gone missing, only to be found either dead, or completely insane. Governments are trying to claim these as coincidences. They are not."

He pulls out a picture from the file, moving it across the surface in front of him, and it's a grainy photo, what seems to be a screencap from a surveillance camera, much too blurry to pick out any finer details, but it shows enough. Five men, all angles and chiselled chins, walking calmly amongst the crowd in plain sight.

Harry stares at one man in particular. Shaved head, broad shoulders, and deep, sunken eyes that are, chillingly, staring straight at the camera.

"These men are behind these attacks. They identify themselves as TW, and this man here," he points at the particular figure Harry'd been looking at, "is their group leader, Max George. He's a master telepath, which seems to explain the abysmal amount of information we have on the group."

"He completely demolishes the victims' memories," Liam murmurs out in realization. "That's why they go crazy."

"If he lets them live," Paul says somberly. He looks round at all of them, before going on to say, "This group should not be taken lightly, gentlemen. They are intelligent, cunning, dangerous. They are cruel and pitiless, and will do anything to get what they want. They won't think twice about killing anyone, most especially any one of you."

Harry gulps, swearing the sound is almost audible in the deathly silent room, and he can feel Liam twitching his leg nervously beside him. He reads the rest of the file, and sees that aside from their telepathic leader, TW's mutations include a shapeshifter, invisibility, teleportation, and optic blasts.

He feels his throat tighten further at the thought of having to face any of these men.

"One of the first victims, Richard Griffiths," Paul says as he pulls out another photo of a portly man, face consisting of eyes, a great mustache and not much else. "Renowned for his achievements in robotic engineering, he was known as the most advanced roboticist in the world today. At the time of his capture, he was developing a new program, one of giant mechanical creatures aimed to protect. TW kidnapped him, and judging by the lacerations and bruises on the body, tortured and likely controlled him to help them advance their cause. Any and all plans of these robots have disappeared from all records, and following the intelligence we've gathered, we've concluded that this program was rebooted to target and attack anyone without the X-gene."

"That vision," Harry mumbles out, transfixed on a copy of the blueprint of those towering mechanical creatures included among the documents in his file, the fear still present and eating away at his chest.

The other boys look at him curiously, but Paul nods grimly, adding, "The program's new codename is Raubtier. Literal predators.

"Since then, TW has held tycoons or individuals close to influential business for ransom, but they don't ask for money. In exchange, they want unprecedented amounts of raw material. Steel, iron, etc. They deliberately chose these particular victims because of their influence over their domains.

"These men have stopped at nothing to get what they want. They're terrorists, they kill for the fun of it, tortured and murdered political leaders to break the spirit of the people. We are at a turning point here, gentlemen. We've lost six teams since this has all begun, that's why we're forming so many teams now. And you were screened to be the best of the best. The most powerful candidates, trained or untrained. And that is why," he pauses, staring at them with a shadow of a smirk on his face, " _I_ will be personally handling this team."

"What," Louis and Liam say together, while Blondie laughs loudly, the sound ringing through Harry's ears.

"Individually, you're all forces to be reckoned with. But you were put together specifically because you have the potential to be the agency's flagship team," Paul tells them with a glint in his eyes. "Not to get you all cocky, but we have great hopes for you all."

"So they needed the best to train us?" Louis asks, eyebrow quirked.

"Your flattery won't win me over, Tomlinson, you're still not allowed to draw on anything."

The two bicker back and forth, all in good fun, Liam trying and failing to shut Louis up, Niall laughing at the exchange, and Harry has never felt more out of place.

Paul says they've been chosen because they were the best, the most powerful. Says that he'll personally oversee their progress as they become a unit. Says that they have the potential to be great.

Harry doesn't see how he'll be contributing to any of that.

Just then, the door opens slightly, and a raven-haired boy, devastatingly good-looking with strong cheekbones and brown, brown eyes, enters the room quietly amidst the noise, and takes the seat beside Blondie.

"He's alive," Paul says when he takes notice of the new figure, voice booming and the smile reaching his eyes.

"'lo, Paul," he replies, voice soft and exhausted, his eyes half-lidded. "Had to cram in the plans for the supersonic jet fighter last night, forgot they were due this morning, 'm sorry for being late."

"Well, since you're late, do you want to start off introductions, Blaze?"

"I was hoping I'd be missing this part-"

"Malik."

"Sorry, Paul, but there's nothing else I really need to know about these guys, I'm the one who screened them for you-"

"It would be good for a genius like you to have actual friends. I don't count because I'm your boss-"

"'Blaze'?" Blue Eyes interrupts, looking at the dark-haired man next to him curiously. "That a codename?"

"Nah, just a nickname. 'm Zayn," he introduces himself, leaning back on the chair.

"And your mutation, you have superhuman intelligence?" Liam asks from across the table.

"You could say that," Zayn says with a wry smile. "I'm also a fire elemental, but that's not that important-"

"Hang on," Louis cuts in, looking incredulous and a little outraged. "You mean you can control fire, and you're claiming your big brain is your power?"

"Well, my _big brain_ ," Zayn says, emphasizing each word heavily, "practically runs the Secret Intelligence Service."

"I think it's nice," Harry says, feeling that his blood is circulating normally again. He's not all that comfortable yet, but Blondie's giving him these warm smiles, as if he knows how Harry's feeling and is trying to dissipate his nervousness away, and he can't help but feel a bit more at ease. "Reckon I'd love to have a genius-level intellect, wouldn't have to bust my arse in uni," he finishes, smiling a bit as well when Zayn beams at him.

"In any case, this is as much as I can do with fire at the mo'," Zayn snaps his fingers, a small, bright flame appearing and dancing above his fingertips. He spreads out his hand, and the flame flows down, jumping from finger to finger, to his other hand, the ball of fire extinguishing when he snaps his fingers again. "Just use it to light up cigs, sometimes to burn the end of ribbons so they won't unravel when I use them for bookmarks."

"Such a waste," Louis sighs dramatically, shaking his head. "Well, I'm Louis Tomlinson. And unlike Blaze over here, I actually _use_ my powers."

Suddenly, another Louis pops up, appearing out of nowhere to take the empty chair next to the original. Blondie and Harry, clearly the only ones not knowing what his mutation was, jump in their seats. Harry actually manages to fall to the ground.

"Accomplished all my detentions while other me's got into even _more_ trouble," Louis No.2 says with a smile as a third and fourth appear behind him, a fifth walking over to Harry to help him get back to his seat wordlessly. "Eventually they gave up and let me be."

"My record's 78 duplicates," the original Louis says proudly. "Pretty sure I could have done more, but the floor couldn't handle that much weight. We collapsed the attic and ended up in Basil's office."

"And I'd like to be called 'Finite!'" Louis No.7 pipes up from somewhere over in the back.

"That's a stupid name," Zayn murmurs, rolling his eyes.

"Anyway, I'm Liam, Liam Payne," Liam says loudly, knowing that Louis was about to go off. "I have superspeed."

"Sick," Blue Eyes says with a smile, and Liam smiles back in appreciation. "Could you show us?"

"Well, won't be able to do much here, room's too small, but," Liam stands up, looking mischievous as he walks over to the glass wall, waving over at the employees walking by and peering into the room curiously. He presses his palms flat against the glass surface, and starts tapping against it lightly, increasing his speed until his hands' movements are a blur.

"I wouldn't do that," Zayn says, but it's a second too late.

The wall shatters from the vibrations, breaking into thousands upon thousands of tiny pieces, the shards raining down to the floor.

Liam stands transfixed, hands still up pressing against a no longer existing glass wall, his mouth and eyes wide open. The employees stare back in shock at the scene.

"That usually doesn't happen when I do that," he says after a beat of silence, still in the same position.

"Liam! Sick!" Louis No.3 says, hands gripping Louis No.2's shoulders as he jumps up and down in excitement. "Do it again!"

"Cannot believe you two are the best Cowell's has got," Zayn leans back again in his chair, shaking his head and glaring at Paul.

"'Cowell's?'" Harry mumbles in confusion as Liam apologizes to Paul in the background, Paul sighing and telling him it was alright; he was going to have to get new furniture anyway.

"Cowell's Academy for Empowered Youths," Blondie tells him, a tiny smile gracing his face. "They say it's the most prestigious school for mutants, but it was only founded in the sixties. Never got to go meself."

"Don't know 'bout the academy, mate?" Louis, now down to two in the room, asks him. "Where'd you go to train, then?"

"Um, I didn't," Harry answers, feeling a flush paint his cheeks. "Found out I was a mutant a couple of weeks ago, so..."

"How'd you find out?"

"Someone tried to punch me," Harry begins, refusing to look anyone in the eye and feeling ashamed. "My abs broke his bones."

"Wicked, mate, give us a demo!" Louis says as his clone prods at him.

"Rather not," he replies, giving a small smile in apology. "If that's okay."

"Course it is," Blondie tells him, giving Louis a sharp look when he and his duplicate open their mouths to protest. Surprisingly, he shuts up immediately. "What's your name?"

"I'm Harry," he replies, and he can't help but smile gratefully at Blue Eyes, who smiles in return.

"Cap us off, then, Mr. Horan," Paul says, nodding over to Blondie.

"My name's Niall," he stands up, unbuttoning the trenchcoat carefully, "and I've got these."

The coat drops to the floor, and Louis, Liam and Harry jump back in their seats and gasp, Liam keeping Harry from falling to the ground again.

Niall spreads great, majestic wings behind him, the feathers gleaming, blindingly white, and from tip to tip, they span almost the entire length of the room.

(Harry can't help but drop a few glances down at his bare torso, stomach lightly defined in muscle and chest covered sparsely in dark chest hair that contrasts his blonde locks, and his arms. He was not expecting those arms, thin but otherwise defined, the tone of muscle just enough. Paul looks at him knowingly, but he nods in understanding before Harry can even think to panic.)

"Shit, you're the Sparrow," Louis says, his double disappearing with a faint pop as he stares at Niall in awe. "Shit shit shit."

"You know who I am?" Niall asks, surprised.

"You were in all the best readings for History of Mutants and Mutation in the academy," Liam tells him, suddenly quite shy and unsure. "Lou's your biggest fan, knows everything about you."

"You were the only reason I ever passed that class," Louis says, eyes still wide.

Niall flushes at all the attention being given to him, his wings folding back to cover his body as his skin turns a little pink. "I've got a lot to live up to, then."

"Doubt it will be that hard for you to do," Zayn says, a small smile on his face. "Heard a lot about you. It's an honor to have you here."

"Went to the academy, then?" Niall asks him as he takes his seat again, coat now drowning his thin frame again.

"I entered when I was thirteen, they moved me up here to 8 a month later," Zayn replies with a shrug. "I never got to take History in Cowell's. But my parents have told me a lot about you from when you were in Team Pacific together. You might remember them? Laser and Firefly?"

"You're Yaser and Tricia's son?" Niall's eyes widen and he grins, straightened teeth on display and blinding. "Always knew those two would make great kids together. FIgures they would make a super genius."

"Alright," Paul booms over Niall and Zayn's chatter, Louis and Liam still gawking at their fellow teammate, and Harry just sits there, not really knowing what to do. "You were all given keys when you arrived. These are for your personal quarters while you are here, your belongings have already been brought up. You will be residing in the West Wing of the Winston Building. At the back of your files are your respective schedules for training, recon, and power development, and I expect all of you to be ready by six tomorrow morning."

He looks at the five of them, serious and unusually somber. "This won't be easy, boys. But a lot of people have a lot of faith in you. Don't fail them."

They're all silent then, even Louis is uncharacteristically still in his seat, and Paul leaves the room with a terse "6 am at the quadrangle, gentlemen," thrown over his shoulder.

The room is quiet for a moment. Then-

"Wait, did he say six in the morning?" Louis squawks, and he knows it's inappropriate, but Harry laughs anyway.

It's slightly worth it when Niall's eyes crinkle at him when he smiles.

 

*

 

Curly was decidedly very cute. Niall just wishes he'd smile a bit more, because the dimple that appears when he does is stupidly endearing, and he'd quite like to poke it.

Harry'd been quiet when they were led by Zayn to their quarters, though everyone else was not. Louis had not left him alone until they parted to go to their separate rooms, and in that time, he'd been asked about his legendary tenure in Southeast Asia, his time with Team Allied, that one incident where his wings were nearly chopped off by the Nazis, his involvement with the formation of 8, and Niall had forgotten the rest when Louis had gone off to tell him about his Doncaster roots, and how he'd discovered his powers when he'd been tied up by his sisters while his parents were out. Liam also shared a bit about his life in Wolverhampton, and his dad calling him 'Lightning Liam' ever since he was disqualified from the track team for "unnatural speed." Zayn had also talked quite a bit, though he strikes Niall as one who doesn't usually do so. Told them about coming from a family of mutants, and designing his first plane when he was seven, though he can't drive a car (knows how to do it, in theory, but can't do it, in practice).

They have a decently sized room each with incredibly soft beds, and a common room furnished with leather couches and armchairs and (unbelievably) a fireplace, a kitchen equipped with the latest range of appliances, and a dining area that actually looks quite cozy. The whole place clashes spectacularly with the rest of the facility, and it's quite possibly the nicest, most comfortable team residence he's ever had.

Dinner had been a noisy affair, and after thirty or so years without a team, Niall welcomes it. He made a simple fry-up for them, used to having to make his own meals after so many years. Liam and Zayn helped him with the chopping, Louis hung around and talked his ear right off, asking Zayn for a cigarette and making him light it up with his flame, while Harry had set up the table alone. He had been quiet while they'd devoured Niall's eggs, bacon and homemade hashbrowns, and Niall missed his voice, wanting to hear it filter through the absolute racket the rest of them were making.

They forced Louis to do the cleaning, but he ended up sitting around the pathetic fire Zayn had tried to produce with the rest of the team anyway, his duplicates haphazardly putting the kitchen back in order.

Harry had made them hot chocolate, blushing when Louis had moaned at his first taste. NIall, Liam, and Zayn were a little more subtle in their praise, but Niall didn't do anything to hide the smile on his face.

A little while after, Liam carried a sleeping Louis back to his room before going back to his, Zayn sleepily bade them good night before retreating to his own quarters, and Niall and Harry were left in the common room.

"Well, best be off, early call tomorrow," Niall says as he picks up the cups to return to the kitchen.

"It's alright, I'll take care of mine," Harry tells him with a little smile when he tries to take the still nearly full cup in his hands. "Thank you."

Niall stares at him, transfixed on his gentle green eyes, his dimple, his mouth, wide and lips rosy pink, and he makes himself stare at the ground, makes himself not get tempted.

"Alright," he says, making to go to the kitchen and straight to his room. "Good night, Curly."

Harry laughs quietly, and Niall latches on to the sound. "Good night, Blondie."

 

*

 

When Niall goes to fix himself a cup of tea at half past two after hours of laying in bed but not sleeping, he doesn't expect to see Harry already seated on a stool by the island, nursing a mug of what smells like chai, swirls of steam curling above the liquid. He's got his file opened in front of him, but he looks up when Niall walks in, and gives him a sheepish smile.

"Couldn't sleep either, then?" Niall asks him, taking the seat next to him and feeling touched when Harry gets up to make him a cup as well.

"No," he replies quietly, voice deep and slow and gentle. "Thought I'd do a bit of homework, since I've got nothing to show for me. No training to speak of, and whatnot."

"You'll be fine," Niall assures him with a soft thanks when Harry places his tea in front of him. "Paul seems to be good at what he does. You're in good hands."

"I know I am," he says quietly, sipping from his mug. "But it doesn't stop anything from being scary."

"I understand. I'm sorry," Niall says with a slight blush on his cheeks.

"Nothing to be sorry for," Harry replies, waving off his apology with a small smile.

The room goes silent, the two of them sipping their teas silently, but Niall doesn't feel the need to fill it with words. Feels safe, grounded.

"Your profile says you were born in 1793," Harry says, breaking the silence. "You're over 200 years old. But we look the same age."

"Comes with the mutation, I suppose," Niall answers, shrugging.

Harry doesn't speak for a while, but Niall knows he's going to ask more questions. So he waits for them to come.

"How old were you when you joined your first team?" Harry asks him, though the file in front of him has the answer.

"21," NIall answers anyway. "This will be my seventeenth team assignment. It's been awhile."

Harry looks up at him, and Niall sucks in a breath.

His eyes.

"Does it ever stop being scary?" Harry asks him, eyes wide and the fear openly expressed on his face.

He knows what Harry's looking for, knows the exact type of reassuring he needs, but he can't offer that because he'd be lying then. So he tells him the truth instead.

"No, not really," Niall answers as he sets down his tea. "But eventually you learn to realize that being scared isn't a weak point."

Harry nods in reply, the fear still present in his eyes and the slight curve down of his mouth, the way he grips his mug.

"What are you taking up in uni?"

"What?" Harry snaps out of his thoughts, looking at Niall curiously, probably not expecting the question because _why would he._

"What are you taking up in uni?" Niall asks him again, leaning an elbow on the island top and smiling at him expectantly.

Harry stares at him as if he'd grown a second head, as if that were stranger than having a pair of wings, and answers slowly, "Business."

"Boring," Niall replies with a scoff, rolling his eyes.

Harry laughs, the sound bright, and Niall can't stop staring at the way his smile overtakes his entire face, the way his eyes scrunch up and it's probably the most genuine thing he's done since Niall's met him.

"Yeah, it really is," he says, smile still wide. "Not much for it, seemed like a safe choice, though, so."

" _Boring_ ," Niall repeats, drawing out the syllables. "What is it that you really want?"

Harry glances at him, then back to his tea, the apples of his cheeks pinking up when he murmurs in reply, "Music. And maybe minor in English Lit. But, Music."

"Yeah?" Niall says, smiling at him. "Why?"

"You don't really want to know. It's not very eventful," Harry tells him with a little shrug.

"I really do, though, never went to uni meself," Niall says. "I'd like to know."

Harry studies him, as if questioning his sincerity, but.

He tells Niall anyway, of White Eskimo and serenades and holding a guitar for the first time when he was a kid but not having the chance to really learn how to play until just recently and his frustrations and pride with having a voice that's a little low and plenty of rough and just. Niall listens to it all, because he knows that he probably won't get Curly to talk like this about anything else, and Harry's honesty and subtle enthusiasm is also stupidly endearing and Niall just likes to hear him talk.

In turn, he tells Harry of Greg and his fiddle, graduating on to the violin and eventually the guitar, of lullabies to his nieces and nephews and his brother's grandchildren and great grandchildren and great great grandchildren and singing around many a campfire, all over the world between missions and wilder living conditions.

It takes Liam, looking bewildered and half-asleep, walking into the kitchen, looking to make coffee to help them all tolerate the early hour, to make them realize that they've been talking for hours.

"What time is it, Lightning?" Niall asks him, tone soft because he looks bone tired.

"Fifteen past five," Liam replies, rubbing his eyes. "I'll take the first shower if you don't mind. Need it to wake me up."

"No problem," Niall answers, and Liam stalks off, feet dragging, over to the bathroom, leaving them alone again.

"'Lightning,' huh," Harry says, raising an eyebrow at him.

"It'll catch on," Niall tells him with a wide grin, before he gets up from his stool and brings his empty cup over to the sink. "Better get ready then, I suppose."

He turns to leave, but stops when Harry quietly calls out, "Hey, Niall?"

"Yes?"

"Thank you," he says softly with a small smile, dimple not quite there, but it's sincere.

Niall smiles in return, and replies, "Thank you for the tea. Though I normally don't drink chai."

"I'll remember that," Harry tells him, eyes glinting when he doesn't quite laugh, but Niall knows not to expect more.

 

*

 

"Thank you for being mostly on time, gentlemen," Paul gives a sharp look in Zayn's direction, but he doesn't so much as flinch at the attention. He just opens his mouth in a silent yawn, and nods at Paul as he leans against Liam. "Before we begin your training proper, I've got to see where you all stand in terms of combat and defense."

Paul had made them spar with one another, testing out their styles and techniques and their ability to use their powers to their advantage. Louis and Niall had gone up first, and while Louis was most definitely not an easy opponent, making as many as twelve clones to tackle him to the ground, he was too excitable. He was quick on his feet, knew where to hit and how to inflict the worst kind of fleeting pain possible, and Niall could see how and why he was chosen to be part of this team, could see how he was perceived as one of the best at the academy, but he did, after all, have more than two hundred years worth of experience behind him.

Niall had kept his eye on the real Louis, coolly dodging jabs and kicks from the duplicates and only needing to fly into the air once to avoid being hit. Eventually, he grabbed on to the original, twisted his arm around and kneed the small of his back, causing Louis to cry out at the sudden pain, the clones disappearing instantly with faint pops as he dropped to the ground, Niall keeping hold of his other limbs.

"Sorry about that, mate," he had told him after Paul called for a stop, Liam and Harry clapping and looking on in awe, Zayn even managing to look more awake.

"I just got my arse handed to me by the Sparrow," Louis had whispered to himself as Niall helped him to stand up. "This is the greatest day of my life."

Liam and Zayn had gone next, and Niall thought that they were right to seek Lightning out. He was frighteningly quick, but did not overuse his abilities, avoiding Zayn's limited attempts to knock him with breathless speed, so quick that he was a blur. But Zayn, despite his perpetually sleepy disposition, was smart with his own motions; his genius level intellect had provided him a strategic advantage, because he could practically predict every move Liam wanted to take, and he wasn't a bad fighter either. Though he didn't move much, every hit he did dish out was calculated, and occasionally successful.

At one point, Liam had yelled, yanking his arm away from where it was wrapped around Zayn's middle, inspecting the exposed skin, now red and looking a little raw, and said loudly, incredulously, "Did you just burn me?!"

"You're not the only one who can use their powers, mate," Zayn replied with a mischievous smirk.

Paul had ended the fight after another few minutes, in which Liam just sped off every time Zayn tried to approach him, opting to land a few kicks from a distance instead, one of which caught Zayn unsuspectingly, and he had laughed in surprise as he fell to the ground, clutching his side where Liam had hit.

"Alright, Styles, on the mat," Paul orders, and he looks over to Niall, "would you mind going again?"

"No, it's fine," he replies, and he glances at Harry, still and pale and not looking in any way ready. He leans in close, and murmurs, "It'll be okay."

When Harry doesn't respond, doesn't even move, Niall asks him, "You know how to fight, yeah?"

"I've boxed, done some kickboxing as well," Harry answers quietly. "But, that's not the problem."

"Then what-"

"I might hurt you," Harry answers, and that wasn't what Niall was quite expecting. "I've put someone in a hospital. I-I don't know how to use this. I can't."

"You can."

"You don't know that."

"I do," Niall tells him firmly. "I really do. You can do this. I trust you."

Harry looks at him, an expression Niall can't really read on his face, and Niall can't stop staring at him. Can't stop staring into jade eyes, the strong line of his jaw, his pink, rose petal lips, tendrils of soft curls  grazing his broad shoulders, and oh.

He really is quite pretty.

"Anytime now, gentlemen," Paul orders, and it spurs Niall into walking back over to the mat, not looking back to see if Harry followed.

"If you think I'm going to allow you to fight in that, Styles," he hears Paul sigh, and Niall looks around just in time to see Harry, a subtle pink blush all over his tanned complexion, unbuttoning his ridiculous sheer top, to reveal his _ridiculous_ torso. Niall can quite believe that his abs broke someone's hand, because _christ_. He's well fit, and the other boys take notice too, whistling and hooting as Harry blushes even more, and Niall cannot stop staring at his muscles, his arms, his goddamn shoulders, and his eyes trail over the tattoos scattered all over his skin. Thinks, with a spike of shame and surprise, that he'd quite like to know how it would be to bite into those laurels.

_'You're letting your guard down there, Horan.'_

He snaps his head up to see Paul grinning at him, arms crossed and an eyebrow raised, and he can feel his skin turn red from being caught, but he tamps it down because he won't hear the end of it otherwise.

_Respect your elders, Steel._

Paul snorts discreetly at that, and pushes Harry unto the mat, clapping once to signify the start of the scrimmage.

"I trust you," Niall says quietly so only Harry hears it. "Remember that. You can do this."

Harry nods, and copies Niall's ready stance, fists near their mouths. Niall makes the first move because he knows Harry won't, stepping forward and aiming a kick at Harry's side, near the inked birdcage. Harry avoids it easily, stepping off to the side and not making any move to fight back.

He aims a jab at Harry's jaw, only managing to punch Harry's forearms when he raises his arms to guard his face, and is surprised when Harry pushes him off, his shoulder shoving Niall away, and Niall can feel his strength, because he skids back at least thirty feet, far enough that he's off the mat and his feet are sliding across the grass of the quadrangle. The friction it creates burns his bare feet unpleasantly, and he flies up a few feet to relieve the bottom of his soles.

He looks over to the side, and see Liam, Louis and Zayn's eyes and mouths wide in shock, and Paul looking impressed and pleased.

"Nice, but I know you can do better," he tells Harry as he steps back into the mat, bending his knees to get into position again. "You're up against an old man, this should be easy."

He feigns another kick to Harry's side, and Harry takes the bait, moving over to the left and looking to give him another shoulder shove, but Niall rolls away quickly and lands a solid kick on the center of Harry's chest.

Harry skids back this time, definitely not as far, but he looks winded, and when his feet land on the floor, it's with a distinct crunching noise. Niall glances down briefly, and almost laughs when he sees Harry's feet sunk into the floor, the mat ripped and the stone underneath it reduced to rubble.

Niall sprints towards him, aiming a high kick, but Harry catches his foot easily and swipes it off to the side as if it were nothing, and he shoves Niall off of him easily with a hand against his chest, obviously meant to tease.

Niall sees that he's smirking slightly, and he can't help but do so as well. It seems as if they're both having a bit of fun, now.

Harry aims a kick at his ankles, and Niall flies up to avoid it, but he's not quick enough. Harry catches him as he's just a little over a foot off the ground, his arms wrapped tightly over his bum, and try as he might to get out, Niall can't break his hold.

"Try wooing me first, Curly," he says, glaring down at him and blushing profusely when the other lads start teasing and catcalling from the sidelines at their compromising position, even fucking Paul throwing in his own jeers.

Harry laughs, only gripping tighter when Niall tries to slips away again, and he looks up at him cheekily, eyes glinting and and mouth wide in a full on grin and _christ_ , he's really, really fit.

Niall huffs at him, and while Harry's still chuckling, he whacks his wing against his head, the hit definitely not enough to cause the amount of damage his punch might have caused, but enough to catch Curly by surprise and make him loosen his hold.

Niall breaks free, flying up a bit higher and landing a two foot kick against his stomach.

Harry goes down, his groan barely audible over the resounding crash when he lands on his arse. The mat is totally destroyed, the concrete not any better, and Harry's half buried in sediment in the crater he's created with the sheer force of his body.

"You alright?" Niall lowers himself slightly to hover over Harry, feeling kind of bad, but to be fair, he didn't know that that would happen.

Harry, in reply, just looks up at him, a smirk on his face, before he makes a light jab at Niall's kidney, which, because of his super strength, turns out to actually be _super fucking painful_. Niall mutters out a "holy _fuck_ ," and is brought down to earth again when Harry holds him around the waist, their bodies pressed up against each other.

"That's enough," Paul booms over the din of noise, over Louis and Liam clapping and hooting and mercilessly teasing, and Zayn's failed attempts at hiding his laughter.

Niall uses his wings to propel him off of Harry, and he offers him a hand up.

"See? That was good. It felt good," Niall tells Harry as he pulls him up from the ground, grinning because he hadn't had a scrimmage like that in literal decades.

"Yeah," Harry smiles, not as wide as his own, but it's sincere all the same. "It did."

 

*

 

The next eight weeks pass in a blur of training, learning, researching and becoming a unit with the other boys, getting quite comfortable and close to them in a way Harry wasn't expecting, nor exactly wanted initially.

Gadget training was spent with Zayn in the lab, and Zayn is patient, always willing to help him out and taking his time in explaining everything to him and doesn't take Harry's inexperience against him. By the time the first month was up, Zayn had taught him so much that the next time he had studied the plans for the Raubtiers, rather than just recognizing the structure and visual of the mechanical predator, he actually understood how it was going to be made and how it was going to work.

Understood that they would be wired and programmed to attack people without mutation through a chip specially designed that would identify if the X-gene was present in a person's system. Understood that they were capable of mass destruction that they were equipped with weapons and features that are unique to the program. That they were almost virtually unstoppable.

Harry's gym time overlapped with Louis's, and he'd come to learn early on that he won't give 'Finite' up. Threatens whenever Harry lifts weights that he won't spot him unless he's called by said name. Harry obviously didn't need the help in any case, but he humours Louis anyway, because he's fun and working out is never boring with him, and he's seen Louis throw a tantrum. They chat about everything when they run on the treadmills, Louis making sure his clones get a bit of time as well. Sometimes they’d try to box, but it’s not exactly fair when seven or eight Louis clones would gang up on him (he’d still win, though).

Harry had recon with Liam. While a lot of the time was devoted to doing research and studying TW and its members, as well as their supposed plans and motives and identifying possible characters who could be their next victims or what their next plan of action was, Liam had also taken to telling Harry about his time in Cowell's. Had taken to explaining to Harry the history of mutation, significant events and significant mutants who have had an impact on the world, good or bad, and Harry ate everything up. He knows that Liam was doing this for his benefit, and he was grateful for the forethought.

He'd been surprised when Niall had walked into the warehouse during his first power development session. From what his schedule told him, he was supposed to be having solo meetings with Paul because he's new to the mutation, and Niall just shrugged when Harry asked, and he explained, "He just asked me to come. Might be a permanent thing, but he's not sure."

As it had turned out, Paul thought that their scrimmage had brought out a better sense of control on Harry's part. That Niall's blatant belief in him somehow made Harry use his power, in Paul's words, "the way it's supposed to be used," and he saw that they would work well together.

Neither of them really what that meant, but Harry knew that Niall made him feel safe, like he was still normal, despite the circumstances. That he wanted to make Niall feel safe in turn.

That first day, Paul had made them fight again. A series of dodges and kicks and punches that were a little harder than he had intended, but they had laughed all it off, teasing each other and Niall pushing and pushing but it doesn't annoy him, just motivates. By the time Paul had called for it to be over they're were sprawled over each other on the ground again, laughing.

So Niall became a permanent fixture in his power development meetings. Never really did anything to develop his own powers, because he didn't really need it, but was always there even when Paul had said on occasion that he needn't come anymore.  Had always offered an encouraging word, a smile as he flew over their sessions. And he knows, somehow that him being around helps Harry. Harry pushes himself further, gets stronger, breaking through walls and concrete and steel like they're nothing. He gets better at controlling it too, knows how to switch it on and off and it's coming easier to him. And Niall knows and sees it. Had given Harry playful pats on the bum, and once, a little peck on the cheek after a particularly good day, whenever they walked back to the residence. .

The five minute walk becomes his favorite part of his routine.

 

*

 

"Where are the lads?" Niall asks him when he walks into the kitchen, sleep mussed and tired.

"Went to see their girlfriends," Harry replied, standing up and making a cup of tea for him as well (lemon and ginger). "Took advantage of the rare day off."

"And you aren't?" Niall asks him, taking a seat at the table.

"Don't have a girl waiting for me back home," Harry replies simply, assembling their breakfast at the kitchen island.

"A bloke, then?"

"No," Harry blushes, taking the toast out of the toaster as they pop out. "Everyone I wanted to see back home, mum, Gemma. They're busy. Tried calling them to see if they'd be free, but. You know, they've got work. It's alright though."

"Sorry you've only got me as company," Niall says, thanking him quietly when the steaming mug, along with a plate of eggs and sausage and toast, is placed in front of him.

"I'm more than content at the moment," he replies, blushing even more profusely as he takes his seat across from him, trying to start on his own food, but he ends up playing with it instead.

Niall laughs, but it's soft, and when Harry glances at him, he's turned an impressive shade of red, his entire torso flushed.

They talk, easily, comfortably, and Harry lets Niall nick the food off his plate, lets Niall poke at his dimples, lets Niall.

But the silence that comes after they've finished is good as well. He doesn't feel awkward, doesn't feel like the quiet is out of place.

And Harry can’t help it, but he stares at him. Stares at the way he's gathered the dishes and rinsed them for the dishwasher, and listens to him when he starts asking him about getting a bit of gym time together or maybe give the lab a visit and see what the technicians are doing and-

Harry realizes.

This type of life is normal for Niall. Not going home on a day off because a day off is rare and is never really a day off, because something can happen because soldiers and warriors, _heroes_ like Niall can't afford to have vacation days. Knows he can't have time for himself, not really, because he's got a job that doesn't really let him have that. He doesn't, can't, really sit still, ever.

"How'd you do it?" Harry has to ask, and Niall turns to look at him, confused and curious. "How _could_ you do it? For the last two centuries, just, _how_?"

He stares at him, and Harry knows he understands when Niall he puts the dishes in and his wings unfurl behind his back, as if he's itching to stretch them out.

"I just did it," he replies, and Harry can't help but feel a little disappointed because it's not much, but. He knows this is the best he can give, because Niall wouldn't give him anything other than what was the truth.  "I-it felt like I didn't have a choice, y'know? Like, this gene, this mutation, it's like I was forced to be a soldier, a warrior because my blood is structured for me to be one."

Harry's quiet again, head still bowed slightly, but from what Niall has shown him this far, he was never one to leave things unexplained, loves his privacy and security, but he speaks openly about his life, without prompt. So he waits, because he knows he won't leave it at that.

"I flew too far from what my Da called the 'safe zone,'" he begins, leaning his elbows on top of the island. "I got careless, and someone saw me. Spread the news, and soon the entire town knew. Everyone thought that person was crazy and made fun of it, but someone who knew better had heard. Found me and I found myself with these five other boys, all with their own special abilities, and they expected us to fight and protect. We were just kids."

"Was it daunting?" Harry asks, grip tight around his arms as he hugs himself, but face fighting to keep a neutral expression.

"You would not believe," Niall answers, giving him a sheepish smile. "The X-gene has been around for thousands of years, but we didn't have the kind of information and intel we have now when I first started fighting. We were going in pretty much blind, not understanding why or how we could do what we did, but we did it anyway. I definitely didn't know what I was doing back then."

"But look at you now," Harry says. "You're a living legend. I'm pretty sure Louis wants to marry you. Liam's been telling me stuff, and I've been reading up on you. Your credentials are amazing. And you were knighted by the Queen-"

"You know, I only have as much as I do on my resume because I've been alive for so long," Niall tells him, but he doesn't sound like he's teasing him, isn't putting Harry's insecurity aside. He just tells it like it is.

"But, I mean," Harry struggles. "This must be so easy for you now. Being a fighter and not stopping."

"Curly, it's not like I work all the time," Niall says, walking back over to sit across from Harry. "I like my quiet time too, but I've had a lot of that. And once I've started working again, it's hard to get me to stop."

Harry feels his self-doubt radiating off his skin, knows it shows on his face, because he doesn't know how Niall can find it so simple. He knows he's had a lot of time to get used to it, but he doesn't think this is the kind of thing that someone would just get accustomed to.

He doesn't know how he's going to cope having this kind of life himself.

"My first team was dissolved after the first mission," Niall says, breaking the silence that Harry didn't even notice they were having. "There...We weren't really ready, you know? We had to fight because there was no one else left. There was a lot of damage. We got the job done, essentially, but. There was a lot of collateral damage. A lot more than I'd like to admit.

"It took a long time before I actually _became_ the Sparrow," he continues, tugging on one of Harry's curls to try to comfort him. "It was something I had to keep working on. Something that I forced myself to really try and do well."

"Why'd you do it in the first place?" Harry asks, because he has to. "Why do you keep doing it?"

"Because I had a reason," Niall answers. "I wanted to protect people, my family. It might not seem much, but a lot of the time, it's more than enough."

"Do you have a reason now?"

"Course I do."

"What is it?"

"Only one person out of every five or so million will survive after what these lunatics are about to do," he says straightforwardly. "I don't like those statistics."

"Right," Harry says quietly, a little embarrassed because he realizes belatedly that the question was personal.

He shrinks on himself a little, not quite proud, but Niall says clearly, "You don't have to go at it alone you know."

"What?" Harry glances up at him, not quite understanding.

"I'm sure you've got a reason for doing this too," Niall explains, pale complexion turning a little pink. "What I'm saying is, that whatever that may be, I'll help you out with it."

He reaches out his hand on the table, and it takes a moment, but Harry slides his own into it smoothly, and latches on to it tightly. His hand is warm, a little rough, but comforting, a welcome touch.

"Thank you," Harry replies quietly, and they're both blushing now.

He doesn't let go of his hand.

 

*

 

"How did you lot find him?"

"We screened candidates from the database of persons with the bloody gene," Zayn stops drafting the plans for a new device, aimed to amplify Paul's telekinesis and telepathy, to glare at Niall from where he's picked up something that looks a little dangerous and complicated. "Put that down. You're in my lab, so we follow my rules."

"But Harry didn't show any signs of mutation until a few months ago, and Paul had gone to him the day his powers showed up," Niall says, surrendering the thing easily and taking a seat on the stool next to the table. "How could Paul have known?"

"People are identified as mutants right from birth if their blood contains the X-gene, and they go straight to the database, can't tell what their abilities are yet though," Zayn explains, eyes trained back to the sheets in front of him. He picks up a technical pen and uses a T-square to make straight horizontal lines, barely a millimeter apart from each other. Watching him do it makes Niall's head hurt. "Some show signs of mutation right from the get go. Others show up later. But Harry was quite a special case. Never known anyone's powers to show up as late as his did."

"And that's what I'm asking," Niall says, a little frustrated. "How could you have screened him when there was nothing to screen? He has no training, no previous experience, didn't go to any sort of school to develop the mutation and learn about what he is. It's too random, too out of the blue for him to be chosen to be part of this particular team, I know even Louis and Liam have questioned it too once or twice, and Paul keeps going on and on about how important we all are-"

"Are you lot jealous because a newbie got into a good team right away? I know those two had to go to the academy to train to get into one of the better teams, and your team assignments were shit before 1901-"

"Oh, fuck's sake, Blaze," Niall snaps. "I don't bloody care about that. None of us do. What I care about is the fact that you lot are just throwing Harry into this without any warning, without any basic training from any school just to understand how and why he's got what he's got. You're expecting him to fight just as he finds out that he's a bloody fucking mutant. _He doesn't know anything_ , Zayn. He doesn't deserve that."

Zayn doesn't look up at him, face neutral, but he puts his pen down, and his hands shake a bit as they rest on the surface of the angled drafting table. "I know that. I tried to dissuade Paul, but he knows he can do it. Paul's never really been wrong before, and Harry’s  progress is outstanding, Niall. I believe in him. Don't you?"

"Course I do, it's not a question," Niall answers with a huff, and he's not finished. "But Zayn, I know you're not telling me something. Out of all the people in the database, why was he chosen? He has nothing to show for him there, so why?"

Zayn looks up at him then, eyes guarded. "You're going to tell him."

It's not a question, doesn't sound like a threat. He says it as if he were resigned to that fact that Niall really will.

Niall stares at him firmly, almost defiantly, and Zayn shouldn't need any more confirmation than that.

"You're familiar with Barbell, yeah?" he begins, abandoning the plans on the table and sitting down next to Niall.

"Every mutant should know who he is," Niall replies. "One of the greatest of the twentieth century. What's he got to do with anything?"

"Everything," Zayn says seriously. "He experienced a slump in his career in the 90's, because he met a girl. They had two kids together, but eventually they separated and he joined another team. His youngest had just turned two when he left."

"Des Styles is Harry's dad?" Niall concludes, and he can't believe it. Holy _fuck_.

Zayn nods, and continues, "The gene skipped Gemma Styles, but we found it in him. He's been in the database since he was born."

"Did they know who he was?"

"No, Des never told them, they thought he was in the army, which isn't too far from the truth, actually," Zayn says. "They still don't know, to this day."

" _Christ_ ," Niall can't help but exclaim.

"Barbell joined Team Far East, and that's where he and Paul met," Zayn goes on to say. "Paul was the only person he ever told about Anne and his kids. He loved his kids, yeah? But he was a soldier, it was hard for him to adjust to civilian life, so he stopped trying and left. Far East was his last team. A few years after he joined, he died in combat, in Northern China."

"So Paul sought Harry out solely for the fact that he's Des Styles' kid?" Niall asks, a bit incredulously.

"You make it sound so bad-"

"Because it _is_ , fucking shit, Blaze-"

"Paul had an inkling that Harry could show extraordinary abilities, even for a mutant," Zayn cuts in, looking sharply at Niall. "He thought that Barbell's greatness could have somehow filtered into Harry, and thus far, he's been right. I'm not trying to defend what he did, Niall, but it's best that he be the one to oversee Harry's progress, better than anyone, because he knew his dad. He could help him. I don't agree with the fact that Harry's gonna have to fight on a handicap, but this situation is for the best. And don't try to pretend that you don't like having him around."

"That's got nothing to do with it," Niall replies, but there's no fire in it.

"I am sorry about it, Niall," Zayn says, looking at him and he looks downtrodden, genuinely apologetic. "If I could have done anything-"

"It's not your fault, Zayn" Niall tells him, because it really isn't. Zayn was just following orders, and he knows what that feels like. He feels like shit now, because Zayn's not much older than Harry; he's still a kid, and this is his first team. He's probably nervous about the entire thing as well. "Sorry as well, I didn't mean to get short on you."

"I understand," Zayn says, giving him a small smile and patting his cheek lightly. "We're all on edge, I get it."

"Harry, though," Niall says, and he feels empty. "He _really_ doesn't deserve any of this."

"I wouldn't worry too much about him, he'll be okay," Zayn tells him, picking his pen back up and resuming drawing the lines.

"And why do you say that?"

"Because he's got you looking after him," Zayn says cheekily, eyes still on the plans but his smile is wide.

"You're a right tit," Niall says, trying to cover up his blush with his wings, and he pokes Zayn in the nipples, and on the stomach, and Zayn hardly reacts, clearly used to it.

 

*

 

He wakes up because a piece of the wall behind his bed lands next to him, narrowly missing his head.

"Shit," Niall scrambles to stand, landing on the floor ungracefully. When he looks back up, he sees the rough hole in the wall, and it's not that big, more or less six inches in diameter. Most of the fallen stone is on the side of the pillow, surrounded by smaller fragments of rubble and dust.

He stands, shaking his wings behind him to smoothen the ruffled feathers, and he kneels on the bed, leaning over to peer through the hole.

Harry's back is faced towards him, and he's sitting up on his own bed, placed directly on the other side of the wall, hunched over. His head is bowed, and he's shaking slightly.

"Haz? What happened?" Niall asks, and he's overcome by the incredible urge to gather him in his arms and hold him until he stops shivering.

"Sorry 'bout the wall, didn't mean to," Harry answers quietly, and he's not alright. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine, Curly," he replies shortly. "Are you?"

Harry doesn't say anything for a while, just lowers his head further, wraps his arms around his knees.

"Not really," he eventually says. He's still shaking.

"...Do you want me to come over?" Niall asks him carefully, and he waits.

Harry doesn't reply verbally, but he nods his head a moment later, the movement hardly noticeable.

Wordlessly, Niall walks out of his own room, padding cautiously along the hallway because it's barely two in the morning, and opens the door to Harry's room.

"Harry?"

"Come here, please," and his voice is so soft, and Niall would have done so anyway.

He goes over to the bed, realizing along the way that Harry had punched cleanly through the wall, glancing at the hole, then at Harry, who's cradling his hand close to his chest.

"Are you hurt?" Niall asks him, standing next to the bed.

"Should be asking you that," is Harry's reply, and Niall scoffs. He's been through worse. "Had a bad dream. It was a knee-jerk reaction. I'm sorry."

"Just don't let it happen again," he tells him, not wanting to be too insensitive, but it was a close call, rather not have it reoccur. He smooths out Harry's hair, knowing the motion calms him, and asks, "Do you need anything? Water? Tea?"

Harry nods minutely, murmuring, "chai, please. With milk?"

"Honey as well?"

When Harry nods, he drops his head a bit and presses a kiss to the top of his head, whispering into his hair, "be back in a bit."

He makes to leave, turning on his heels, but he feels a tug pulling at his joggers, and it effectively stops him in his tracks.

Niall glances back down, and sees Harry's tugging at the fabric over his thigh, looking down sheepishly.

"Can I ask for something else instead?" he asks softly, shyly, and Niall can't help but be endeared.

"Of course."

"Will you just lay with me?"

Well. Niall wasn't expecting that.

"Y-yeah, alright," he fights down the lump in his throat, the thumping of his heart against his chest, and he climbs in when Harry lifts the covers up to let him in. His wings adjust themselves behind him, not quite used to sharing space, but he makes do, and he lays on his side to face him. Harry curls into his chest, his lips just hovering over the hollow of his throat, and Niall tells himself not to gulp.

He struggles, but he snakes his arms around around Harry's waist, and Harry just burrows deeper, and their bare torsos are pressed right against each other.

He feels Harry's warmth, radiating in waves through his skin, and it's more comforting, nicer than he'd like to admit.

They're quiet for a while, and Niall listens to the way he breathes. Deep, slow, like his voice, but it feels heavier than it should be, like he's keeping everything in.

"I know you might not want to," he pauses, his cheek resting on Harry's temple, and he strokes his back with soft, sweeping motions, "but, I think it might help if you tell me. I won't leave you to handle this by yourself."

To his surprise, Harry nods, imperceptibly, but a nod all the same, and he waits for Harry to begin.

"The day Paul recruited me, he showed me this vision," Harry says slowly, lips moving against Niall's throat. "Non-mutants were being beaten, attacked by guards, by the Raubtiers. Were dying. Were being killed. It was horrifying."

He pauses, and Niall feels Harry's arms wrap around his middle, gripping at him, just beneath where his wings are attached to his back. He holds on tighter in turn.

"I saw my mum and my sister Gemma. They." He doesn't finish, and he shakes in Niall's arms. He's not quite crying, but.

"This the first time you dreamt about this?" Niall asks him patiently.

Harry doesn't answer, his breathing laboured, and Niall knows to leave it at that.

"I'm sorry."

"I don't get why this happened to me, sometimes," Harry murmurs into his skin, and Niall can't breathe, suddenly. "I'm trying to be okay about it all, but, I don't understand why."

Niall knows it would be better if he didn't say anything. Knows that it would be better to wait, until when Harry wasn't so vulnerable, when he's more ready. But he doesn't think that it would do him any good, to withhold the truth from the person who deserves it the most.

So he tells Harry. Tells him everything that knows, everything that Zayn told him. Tells him about Barbell, about the powerful blood that runs through his veins, tells him about Team Far East and Paul seeking him out for the fact that he is the son of one of the most lauded mutants of the past century. He tells him everything, mumbling it into his hair as he listens out for any reaction Harry might make.

He gives none. Just breathes deeply, his breath blowing out across Niall's skin, just stays quiet, just presses himself closer and closer until Niall's sure there's absolutely no space between them.

"Explains a lot, I guess," Harry says eventually. He doesn't sound angry, or sad. Just is. "Never really knew my dad, so I'm not cut up about losing him, really? I mean, I am sad, 'cause it's my dad. Would have wanted to meet him, would have been nice to know about this kind of thing earlier, but I can't because he's gone, and he chose to leave us to fight, so."

"Haz-"

"It's done, Ni. I'm here now. I'd rather be here doing something about the problem than being at home and not having any sort of progress."

"I'm sorry," Niall tells him, because he is. "I wish I could do more for you."

"None of that, now," Harry says, and it sounds final.

They're quiet for a bit, and Niall thinks Harry had gone back to sleep, the grip under his wings loosened and the breathing slower, deeper, more stable, and he continues to run his hands up and down Harry's back, wanting him to relax as much as possible.

"I've got a reason, you know," Harry mumbles against his skin suddenly, sounding half gone and about to nod off. "I'm kind of okay with all of this happening, because I've got a reason."

Niall thinks he understands. "Your mum stays safe? And Gemma?"

"Yeah," Harry murmurs his assent, and the lips pressed against the center of Niall's chest feel deliberate now, "not just them, though."

 

*

 

More often than not, Niall finds himself being pulled into Harry's bedroom, where they cuddle until Harry falls asleep, where then Niall will untangle himself from Harry's clutch and go to his own bedroom.

Every time, less than half an hour after he leaves, Harry would walk into his room and join him under the covers, where Niall would automatically big spoon him, and they both sleep there.

Eventually, he just stops leaving Harry's room. Finally admits to himself that he prefers to wake up seeing Harry curled up against him, his back pressed right up against his chest comfortably, and it warms him, makes him feel grounded.

He hasn't used his own bed since then.

 

*

 

Sometimes, Harry wouldn't sleep. Niall didn't know what to do when that happened, initially. He knew his cuddles and company couldn't fix anything, and he's not conceited enough to think that he could help Harry, that his affection for him was enough to at least give him some peace of mind. But he thought that, in the very least, he could help Harry enough to let him have a good night's sleep. More often than not, it did work. But sometimes, he really wasn't enough.

So those nights where neither of them would sleep, they'd have tea in the common room sofa, just like the first night.

"Don't understand why you like that so much."

"It's soothing, Blondie, and spicy," Harry pouts at him, holding his usual cup of chai with milk and honey close. "Like yours is any better."

Niall just grins at him, sipping his lemon and ginger tea with an exaggerated sigh, as if to emphasize a point.

Harry sidles up next to him so their thighs are pressed together, almost practically on his lap, and he asks quietly, "Can you-"

Wordlessly, Niall unfurls one wing, and envelopes Harry in it like a blanket. Harry snuggles in deeper, thumbing at one of his feathers, and rests his head on Niall's shoulder. Niall in turn leans his head against Harry's, and it's comforting. It's something they do quite often, and it's his favorite thing, to be with Harry in any capacity he is allowed.

"Something's on your mind," he mumbles, wrapping one arm around Harry's waist and rubbing against his skin, warm and bare.

Harry doesn't reply for a long time, and Niall thinks he isn't going to, until he mumbles, "Had recon with Liam today when Paul came barging in. Was looking for one of the other telepaths in the lab, there've been sightings of TW in London, but they haven't done anything. Not even trying to hide. And the prime minister was spotted with them, once. Me and Liam couldn't believe it-"

"And you shouldn't," Niall tells him firmly. "It's probably just Sykes," he says, recalling the shapeshifter from the documents, a young face, deceptively innocent.

"Paul thinks they're going to attack soon," Harry says quietly, gripping his almost full cup. "What with the vote on the terrorism bill coming up, they'd have the perfect opening. Paul thinks they'd attack then, to 'strike fear in the heart of power.'"

"That's not for another few months-"

"But that means it's just a few more months of preparing, and I don't feel anywhere near ready," Harry says, turning to look at him. His green eyes are wide and tinged with fear. "It's enough that this is the first time I'll actually be on a mission, fighting. But it's against this group, and they've been attacking some of the most powerful people in the world and I've had a glimpse of what they have the potential to cause and. It terrifies me."

Niall puts down his mug on the table in front of them, only a few more sips left, and he stretches out his other wing to wrap them both up in a cocoon. "It's not just you fighting, yeah? I'll be there, the boys will be there, Paul will be there. And they're preparing other teams too. You won't be alone in this. I won't let them do anything to you. I swear."

Harry stares at him, and he stares back, not even thinking about looking away to break the gaze. He means every word, hopes Harry understands.

He's important to him. He will always be the best part of this. He is the best part of his everyday.

And _this_ is scarier than any battle he's been on, but. He wants it.

"Not just me I'm concerned about, though," Harry whispers. "Like, I think about my mum and Gem, and my stepdad and everyone who'll be affected by all the destruction. I can't help but feel responsible for them, you know? All of them. I'm partly responsible for their safety, their survival, and it gets a bit heavy sometimes. It's a lot to think about, to have that much riding on you."

NIall stares at him, can't stop looking, because he realizes how _human_ Harry is, and it's not necessarily a fault. He's not afraid to show invulnerability, to need help, to show affection.

He's not perfect. But Niall doesn't want perfect. He wants _him._

"Reckon I've got a name for you, Curly," Niall says, coaxing Harry to lean back against him. Harry places his head back on his shoulder, and Niall runs his hand through his curls gently.

"A name?"

"Yeah. You know how Liam's 'Lightning,' and Zayn's 'Blaze,' and it's really fucking awful, but Louis wants to be called 'Finite?'" Niall tells him, a small smile on his face. "I think you should be called 'Atlas.'"

"'Atlas?'"

"You know, he's strong, since he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders?" Niall explains. "It's not unlike what you're doing now."

"He technically didn't carry the Earth, though," Harry tells him, sounding a bit muffled against his skin, "but I do like it. The name, I mean. Bit more than I deserve, I think."

"You deserve everything, so it's not," Niall tells him, and the blush that spreads across Harry's skin makes his heart race. "I told you before, though. I'm here, in whatever capacity you need me to be. No need to have to burden yourself so much. I'd carry that weight with you, if you'll have me."

He feels Harry nudge his nose against his bicep, a little brush of his lips against the muscle, and it's the thank you he can't say. Niall understands.

"Got to clean up," Niall says, smiling at him, and he makes to stand up, Harry making a little groan of protest at the movements, at the loss of warmth, but he lets Niall go all the same.

Niall picks up his discarded mug from the table and goes to the kitchen to rinse it out for the washer, and he hears Harry amble after him slowly, footsteps slightly audible on the wooden floors.

"I think you should get a new name, too."

"What?" Niall looks round at him, not really following. "I've got a name. I've been Sparrow since I started fighting."

"I know, and yeah, Sparrow's legendary, you're known as a hero with that name, as you should be, but you've got new hair and I think it's time you've got a new name too," Harry tells him, setting his cup down on the island and going over to where Niall's washing out his mug at the sink.

"What would you call me, then?" he decides to amuse Harry, quite curious as to what he might say.

"I'd call you 'Angel.'"

Niall's hands fumble on the tap, and he can't move. Feels like his muscles have locked up and he can't quite think straight.

The last person who had called him that unironically was his Da.

"And why would you call me that?" Niall tries to feign calm, but it's a moot point, with the way he's gripping at the edges of the sink and his shoulders slumped over, his wings sweeping at the floor.

"Apart from the obvious," Harry starts, and Niall can't tell if his careful tone is because he doesn't know how to explain, or because he noticed his condition, "You make people feel safe. Protected, as if there's an angel watching over them."

Niall stares down at the gleaming steel of the sink, not willing to reveal to Harry just how much this is affecting him.

"I'm not an angel."

"But you are. You don't just look it, you _are_ one-"

"Angels are supposed to be perfect, Curly," Niall snaps, finally looking at him. Harry's staring back earnestly, honestly, and Niall wants him. Cannot help but want him. "I'm not perfect. And I don't want to be."

"But you're you," Harry says, looking so genuine. "You're you and you know, you're more than enough. You're everything. I-"

Harry visibly struggles, opens his mouth several times, just to close it a moment later. Cannot finish his thoughts out loud, but the red flush appearing on his face and torso is almost an explanation. He looks at Niall, and Niall feels his heart jump to his throat. Thinks he understands.

Niall turns to face him, and takes a step forward. Places his hands on his hips, over the laurels, and the muscle here is less defined, gives more when he squeezes into it slightly and he pulls Harry towards him, leaving no space between them.

"Ni," Harry whispers, his jade eyes wide and wanting.

"Can I?" he asks quietly, thumbs sweeping back and forth across his skin.

Harry gives him a small nod, and he's trembling a little, but it's in anticipation.

Niall tilts his head slightly, and brushes his lips against Harry's in a soft kiss, testing the waters, and it's everything. Harry's lips are soft, a little chapped, but he feels it down to the tips of his wings. He feels Harry cradling his face in his large hands, deepening the kiss further, and Niall licks into his mouth, and Harry is warm, a little sweet, kind of spicy, and he wants him, more and more, and he won't deny himself anymore.

Harry wraps his arms around his neck, clutching at the skin above his wings, and he nips at Niall's bottom lip, holding on to him and trying to get closer, as if there was any space left, and.

Harry. He's everything.

"Evening, lads."

Niall and Harry break the kiss, but not the embrace, to see Liam by the kitchen island, by the looks of it, just having showered, a towel around his neck and a knowing smile on his face. He doesn't look the least bit surprised.

"Mind if I have your tea, Harry?" he asks, gesturing over to the cup sitting on the island top.

"It's chai," Niall says, at the same time that Harry says, "It's cold."

"Don't mind, just wanted tea, not picky like Lou," Liam picks up the cup, and gives them a grin. "See you tomorrow. Night."

"Night, Lightning," Niall mumbles, gripping Harry's waist, and Liam gives them one last smile before going off to his room, and Harry and Niall are left in the kitchen, still in each other's hold.

Niall turns back his attention to Harry, and his eyes are so soft, his smile shy, and.

_He's the reason._

Harry cradles his face in his hands, and kisses him again, gently, and Niall melts at the touch.

_He's everything._

 

*

 

'Atlas' catches on, rather quickly.

'Angel,' they keep between the two of them.

 

*

 

The first time they did anything more than kissing, Harry's hands were trembling so hard they couldn't unbutton his own shirt, and Niall's wings shed a feather or two from how hard he was shaking.

But it was good. So good, and Niall couldn't stop kissing Harry after. Wanted to keep licking into his mouth, run his tongue against Harry's bottom lip, and it was so, so, so good.

It moves a bit quickly. Quicker than Niall is used to, but he hasn't had much experience, to be fair. Isn't a virgin, by any means, but it's been awhile, and he hasn't done anything often, nor this regularly.

But Harry is considerate, always asking him if they were moving too fast or doing too much and Niall appreciates him so much for it, but.

It becomes a hindrance, especially when Harry's on his knees and looking up at him with those fucking eyes and a knowing smirk on his face, palming at his crotch with purpose.

Despite all the getting off, though. Niall still loves just sitting with him, chai and lemon and ginger cooling on the table as they talk and cuddle. Still wants to curl up wrapped around him at the end of the day. Would be content to just press kisses on his mouth, one after the other.

 

*

 

"You lot are shit at hiding things between the two of you," Zayn remarks from where he's assembling a concentrator for his uniform, to somewhat control his fire abilities. Zayn's developed his elemental abilities so much that he could now create walls of fire without any problem, and it's really quite impressive.

"Weren't trying to hide anything in the first place," Niall says, and they aren't.

"It's sweet, though. I'm rooting for you," Zayn glances at him briefly, smiling. "Could do with a bit less noise though. You two are adorable, incredibly good for each other, but _christ_ , just because you have an opportunity to get off every night doesn't mean you actually have to."

"Not my fault that Harry's so giving," Niall says with, sounding unashamed, but his blush betrays him.

" _Christ_ ," Zayn laughs, looking a bit uncomfortable, but more of mischievous. "And from the sounds of it, you're just as generous, if not more-"

"He's just loud, fucking shit, Blaze," he feels his skin burning at his words.

"Paul can't even look at either of you in the eye anymore," Zayn chuckles, and Niall would shove at him if he weren't working. "Honestly, though. You've got to hide it better. We don't have a problem with it, but you know that this can be used against you."

"Well aware," Niall tells him, a little stiffly.

Zayn must sense his apprehension, because he puts down his tools and walks over to where Niall is, and wraps his arm around his shoulder

"I'm sorry. Is it... Lynx?"

"I won't let that happen to him," Niall says as an answer. "He's everything. I won't let anything happen to him."

 

*

 

They're supposed to be out in the arena for group training in ten minutes. Supposed to be warming up with the other lads, possibly scope out the other team in the exercise. (Four girls: an earth elemental, electricity manipulation, an animal morpher, and psychic manipulation. Zayn's been out of sorts for awhile since he found out he's going against his girlfriend in a practice mission. Perrie had calmed him down by turning into a Pomeranian and licking his face.)

But they're in the storage room. Harry's pressed up against the wall, and Niall's on him, trying to kiss and touch every part of his body that he can reach.

"We're supposed to be out there," Harry mumbles against his mouth, and Niall kisses down his neck, humming against his throat.

"They're not missing us," Niall tells him, hands holding on to Harry's hips, and Harry knows, knows he can't get enough of how he's not as hard here as compared to the rest of his body. "And I'm really not missing them."

"Not the point," Harry says but it sounds strained, and Niall drops down to his knees, pulls Harry's shorts down, and plants a soft kiss on the 'Brasil!' tattoo on his thigh.

"Fucking ridiculous," Niall smiles, running his hand up and down Harry's hard on.

"Angel, please-"

"Now's not the time to call me that," Niall tells him, pulling down his underwear, Harry's cock fully hard and hitting his abs as it's released.

"I feel like I should go to confession or summat, each time I do this with you," Harry says, and he's staring down at him, and _fuck_ , if Niall could only imagine what it looks like. To have an 'angel,' wings and all, down on his knees in front of you, about to put your prick in his mouth. "Does this count as blasphemy?"

"Fuck off, mate," Niall tells him, and he doesn't give Harry the chance to answer back when licks the tip. Harry groans, his head tilting back to knock against the wall, and _fuck_ , it feels so good.

He sucks the head in, and Harry waits, moans and bites his lip until it bleeds to keep in all the sounds, but doesn't push forward, waits for Niall until he's ready.

Niall takes the rest of him slowly, wraps his hand around the base when he can't take anymore, and Harry looks forward to getting to the point that he can take all of his dick, and bobs his head, up and down as best as he can. Harry tangles his fingers in Niall's hair, pulling slightly, and Niall closes his eyes at the sensation. It's good, so good, to have his prick in Niall's warm mouth and his hands in his hair, and-

He gags a bit when Harry's cock hits the back of his throat, and he pulls off, leaning against Harry's hip and breathing heavily.

"Sorry, Ni, did I hurt you?"

"No, just, give me a mo," Niall tells him, and Harry brushes away the sweaty hair from his forehead, cupping his face in his hands and sweeping his thumbs against his cheeks tenderly.

"Alright?" Harry asks him softly.

"Yeah, yeah," Niall replies, and he gives Harry's cock a few pulls, and mouths at it a bit before he sucks it again, hands on Harry's arse, urging him to fuck his mouth a bit.

"Angel-"

Niall hums around his cock, and it spurs Harry on, and he thrusts forward a bit, and this time when he hits the back of his throat, Niall's prepared, relaxes until eventually, he's able to take all of Harry in, and guides him to fuck his mouth.

"Fuck," Harry whispers, thrusting forward into Niall, and Niall moans around his cock, and Harry can see him shoving his hand into his own pants. Knows he's wanking himself off, and Harry can't help but snap forward a bit harder, a bit faster, feeling he's about to come.

Niall swallows around him, and Harry loses it, biting his fist as he comes in Niall's mouth, thrusting forward once, twice, and Niall tries to swallow it all, but he sees some of it's dripping from the corners of his mouth, and he'll have to remember to clean up a bit before going to training.

"I can help with that," Harry says weakly, but it's a moment too late; Niall moans around his dick and he's gone, catching his come in his hand.

"Fucking shit," Niall groans quietly against his thigh once he let's Harry's dick slip out of his mouth, and he almost purrs when Harry runs a hand through his hair.

"Come on now, love," Harry helps him stand, and he procures a flannel from one of the shelves, wiping at his mouth and his hand, but not without a little kitten lick at his palm.

"Fuck's sake, Haz," Niall says, and he kisses Harry full on the mouth, letting him taste himself.

"Paul's gonna have a fit if we're any later than we already are, come on," Harry kisses him one last time, as chaste as he can manage, and he pulls them out of the tiny room, an arm around Niall's waist to pull him closer.

 

*

 

Paul had chewed them out when they got to the arena, not needing telepathy to know what they were doing. Louis looked much too happy, making obscene gestures and pantomiming blowjobs, which Liam, face looking as if it were almost burnt to death, tried to swat away, muttering about "decency in front of the ladies" and not needing to "fucking humiliate them, christ, Lou." Zayn just raised an eyebrow, and swiped his thumb near the corner of his mouth, looking over to Niall specifically.

Niall had wiped at his mouth immediately, and Harry watched his pale chest turn red.

The girls had smiled at the two of them as well, the one with the curly fro (Harry later learns her name is Leigh-Anne, and she was lovely, and she nearly electrocuted him when he shook her hand) cooing when Harry had held Niall close to his side, tucking his chin on the blushing boy's shoulder when Louis wouldn't leave them alone.

But. The mock mission.

Louis and his clones went off against Jesy, who made the ground shake and the masses of dirt, rock and mud fly around the room, pelting them at Louis's duplicates. She was strong, and Harry could tell that she'd been training for a long time. But Louis was not one of the best for nothing, and he distracted her with a few clones, making it look as if she'd won, before he had snuck up on her and pinned her to the ground. Zayn had stepped in to help, deflecting her hits with his fire, and Harry had ripped part of the steel wall (Paul had groaned by the side) and trapped her in.

Liam was one on one with Jade, and he was alright at first, speeding off whenever she aimed whatever material she set her mind to at him. Eventually, though, she set her mind on him, and he found himself in midair, scrambling to get back down to the ground, until Niall had grabbed her and lifted her high into the air. Her shrieks of surprise had Liam tumbling back to the ground, just in time to rush by and push Harry away from the sparks that Leigh-Anne had been setting everywhere.

Zayn had no capacity to actually go against Perrie, so Niall, after setting Jade down for Louis to to take care of, had fought against her, dodging her bites as a lion, flying high, faster than Harry had ever seen him fly when she turned herself into an eagle, and eventually he had feigned falling to the ground, and she fell for it, following him and almost close enough to peck at him sharply. But he enclosed her in his hold as she squawked at him, shrill shrieks as he had bound her and set her on the ground.

Leigh-Anne had given Zayn a hard time, and it was quite fun to see them fight. Zayn had yelped often, frequently getting the brunt end of her shocks, and she'd just smirk, pelting more bolts and sparks. Zayn eventually got back at her, though, creating a wall of fire around him that disintegrated her ammo, distracting her long enough for Liam and a Louis duplicate to grab at her, pinning her to the ground (Louis had made threats of throwing water at her; she and Zayn had given him matching bitch faces).

Harry found himself with the job of going off against a Raubtier Zayn duplicated off of the plans they had obtained, and he freezes once he had found himself in front of the thing. It looked exactly like the one in the vision, and he can't move.

Niall, the angel that he is, saw his plight, and had made the first move on the Raubtier, landing a double footed kick at its back.

It hadn't moved all that much, just bent forward slightly, but it was enough for Harry to swallow his fear and aim a hit at its center, but it's fast, catching his hand and nearly crushing it in its hold.

Harry groaned at the pressure, but he had reacted quickly, jumping on the robot, avoiding its cannon, and ripping off its arm right off its shoulder with his free hand.

The thing had reared back, and he wrenched his arm from the severed robotic limb, crushing the steel and metal in his hand.

It aimed its other arm on him, palm glowing with what he knows would project pure energy at him, but Liam and Niall had gotten there before anything had happened, grabbing the arm and aiming it somewhere else, but it had directed its eyes towards Harry, glowing with the same energy.

He didn't give himself any time to think, had just jumped and tore the reactor in the center of its chest out of its body before it could fire at him, knew after recon and gadget training and looking over the plans over and over that once it was out, it would be rendered useless.

Almost instantly, the Raubtier had shut down, the repulsors dying as its body went limp.

It had all felt...surprisingly good.

The five of them worked well as a team, felt like a real unit, and it was a bit more exhilarating than he initially thought.

He knows that the mission itself won't be anything like that. For all they knew, the Raubtiers may have been altered to be even more powerful, and surely, they’d be facing off against more than one. Knows that while these girls are strong, TW are feared for a reason, know that they're out to get rid of anyone who gets in their way, have absolutely no qualms with killing just to see their cause realized. Knows that he is still in no way ready, but.

He trusts these boys to have his back, knows he has theirs in turn. He's not ready, but he's thinks he finally accepts it. That he’s not alone in this.

 

*

 

"You were damn good today," he whispers into Harry's throat, holding him close. Pulls his duvet over them, listens to Harry's deep breathing.

"If you hadn't hit it first, though-"

"Shut it, you were great," Niall tells him, kissing between the birds tattooed on his chest. Sparrows.

"Felt better than I thought it would," Harry admits quietly, snuggling in closer. "Didn't love it, but. It wasn't so bad."

"Yeah?" Niall can't help but be a little relieved. "You think you're ready then? For when the time comes?"

"No, but it's okay. I don't think I'll ever be completely ready," Harry tells him, lips pressed against his temple. "Was a trip seeing you up there, though. Like a proper hero."

"Had a lot of practice," he replies, and he feels a rush of fierce pride run through his veins when he thinks about how far Harry's gotten. How proud he is. "You're good, Haz. We're good. We're going to be fine. I promise you."

"Okay," Harry tells him, his voice quiet, and it makes Niall clutch him even tighter, makes his heart race. "Thank you. For everything."

"Anything for you, Curly," Niall says, and he cradles Harry's face in his hands, kissing him softly.

Harry gives him a quiet, calm moment, pressing back just so, and Niall feels a great surge of affection almost crush his chest, and he knows what he feels. Knows what it means and knows that he thinks the world of Harry.

Harry licks into his mouth tentatively, nervously, and it feels like there's been a shift in the paradigm. It's not bad, though. Just feels like the air's a bit heavier, like the blood running through him is boiling and his skin needs to be touched and his heart beats louder, with more purpose.

He pushes Harry on to his back, and he kisses down his chest, and it doesn't really feel like it's enough, but it overwhelms him, all the same.

His warmth lights him up down to his very core, so inviting, appealing, tempting. He feels like he could burn in it all day, feels like he actually will.

"Haz?"

"Hmm?" Harry hums back, and Niall can feel it, leaning his cheek against Harry's sternum. His skin is warm. Overheated.

He thrusts forward a bit, pressing his nearly there hard on against Harry's crotch, and Harry groans in reply, not really expecting it.

"Want me to suck you off?" Harry asks him, voice octaves deeper, and it makes Niall shove against him again.

"No," he stops Harry, already moving and trying to get to his prick, by holding his hands on either side of his head, tangling their fingers together. "Please. If it's alright with you. Please fuck me."

Harry's eyes widen, and he's quiet, and Niall thinks he's gone a bit too far, thinks he might not have been ready, and he leans back a little, to sit up and apologize. But Harry grabs his face before he can get very far, and kisses him fiercely, hard and deep and warm right away.

"Sorry, yeah, yeah, of course. I want to," Harry mumbles against his mouth, as if he didn't want to part from him, give him an opportunity to doubt his intentions.

So Niall kisses back, shoves his tongue into Harry's mouth. Moves and adjusts, trying to straddle him, but his wings get in the way and. Christ.

"Hold on, Angel," Harry squeezes at his waist, and his touch is so gentle, so careful, and Niall knows that Harry tries so hard to not let his mutation get the better of him. He tries so hard to still be him, and Niall thinks so, so highly of him.

Harry sits up, and he helps Niall move until he's sat on his lap, pulls him in until they're chest to chest.

"You've got stuff, then?" Harry asks him, leaving a trail of kisses on his jaw, down his chest, biting at his nipples, holding him close until Niall's sure there's no space between them.

Niall wordlessly leans over, searches around the bedside drawer, and pulls out a travel packet of lube and a condom from underneath the accumulated recon assignments, documents, and profiles.

"Don't ask, most humiliating thing I've ever had to do," Niall warns him, but he smiles when Harry starts to laugh quietly, holding out his palm for it. Niall covers Harry's mouth with his hand when he starts laughing again once he surrenders the lube and condom, and all Harry does is go on and bite at his fingers gently when they pull at his bottom lip, still laughing softly, and it just makes him fall even deeper.

He retaliates by rolling down on Harry's clothed cock, hard and pressing against his ass, and he wants it. Desperately, inside him. Harry's laughs are cut short by his groan, and Niall rolls down still, figure eights his hips as Harry throws back his head at the sensation.

"Kit off, come on," Niall tells him, and he's slightly aware of how desperate he sounds, and he doesn't really care. It's an effort, but they manage to get it done without changing their position, Niall can't help but shove his cock against Harry's once they're both free of their clothing, groans into his shoulder and Harry moans into the still air.

"Do you want me to open you up?" Harry asks him, blushing profusely, hands warm against his waist.

Niall just kisses him again in reply, and it spurs Harry on. He pulls away for a moment to tear at the packet, and Niall can hardly see the green in his eyes, and he has to smash their lips together again, feels the irrepressible need to be as close as possible.

He feels something prod at his arsehole, slick and warm, and he moans into the kiss and Harry circles a lubed up finger around his rim, dipping in but not quite entering quite yet.

"Fuck, I hate you, just push it in," Niall tells him, biting at Harry's bottom lip.

He smirks at Niall, the fucking wanker, before he slips his finger in, slowly, and Niall tries to adjust as it enters, tries to relax, and Harry waits for him quietly.

" _Fuck_ ," he exhales when it's in fully, and it's not altogether pleasant, but it's not bad. It's just been awhile. He tries raising his hips a bit, and pushing back against Harry's finger slowly, getting used to the intrusion.

"I can do that, Angel," Harry tells him, voice broken and deep, and he stills Niall with a hand on his side, and he pulls his finger out of his arse, waits a bit before he slowly pushes it back in, and he does it again and again, gradually increasing his speed, and it's good now. Niall pushes back as well as he can, and he wants more.

Harry put another finger in when Niall bites at his earlobe, not wasting any time shoving it in and out of his hole, trying different angles, and-

" _Shit_ , fucking shit," Niall moans, clutching at Harry's shoulders when Harry's fingers brush against his prostate, and he rocks himself back against his hand, needing for him to hit that spot again.

He huffs in frustration when Harry doesn't give him any more, just the two fingers, in and out, and he moves his own hand back to push in his index finger along with Harry's, hissing at the stretch and lack of lube.

"Ni, slow down, don't want you hurting yourself," Harry admonishes gently, his free hand cradling Niall's face.

"Not a gentle flower, Curly," Niall tells him, pushing back against the fingers in him. "Would like for you to be in me within the next year-"

"You're over two hundred years old, you can wait a bit more. Just want you to be really ready," Harry says, and he kisses the corner of Niall's mouth, hitting the magic spot again.

"Please don't bring up my age when you're about to fuck me," Niall frowns a bit, jolting forward regardless at the sensation of his prostate being stimulated. He removes his hand from his arse, and Harry immediately puts three fingers in to replace it.

Niall moans, trying to muffle the sound by biting his lip, hard enough to tear the the skin. He rides Harry's fingers, rolls his hips along to try to get them deeper, and he can't wait anymore.

"Please-"

"Okay, Angel," Harry concedes, kissing him under the eye, and Niall wonders why until he realizes that a few tears had leaked out. Tears that he didn't notice were even there in the first place. It's not a lot, but he feels embarrassed all the same, can't keep his emotions in check, can't keep his want from making him bloody cry.

"No need to cry," Harry says, kissing away the rest of the tears, "I know my fingers are like a godsend-"

"Fuck off, and fuck _me_ instead," Niall tells him, and he just wants his cock to be inside him, right now.

So Harry kisses him, one more time on the mouth, and he slips his fingers out of his entrance to rip at the condom packet and roll the rubber down his prick, pulling off a bit to get it slick. Niall winces at the loss, but Harry holds his arse in his hands once he's ready, spreads his cheeks, and Niall slowly settles down on his lap, the head prodding at his rim. He relaxes himself, sinks down unto Harry's cock, but it's a bit much. It's good, but it's a lot.

"Hold on, sorry, _fuck_ ," Niall breathes out, but Harry waits for him again, hands rubbing up and down his sides to comfort him.

He brings a hand back to his arse, feels at the rim where Harry's buried to the hilt, and he feels Harry's groan rather than hear it. Feels it in his arse, in his chest, bloody fucking everywhere.

"Alright," Niall says, before bracing his arms on Harry's shoulders, and raises his hips slightly, just to slam himself back down, and _fuck_ , it feels so much better.

"Fuck, so tight," Harry whispers, and he thrusts up when Niall goes down, and it's so good, it was a fucking amazing idea to do this. Wants to do it to Harry too, he just wants to get closer and closer and _fuck_.

Niall really rides him then, rides him hard and eventually he's pounding himself on Harry's cock, moving faster and harder and wanting to be filled.

"God, so good," Niall murmurs, clutching at Harry's shoulders, and Harry finds his mouth, kissing him, immediately deep and dirty, his tongue shoving itself into his mouth.

Harry silently beckons for Niall to lean back a little, and Niall whines, not wanting for their skin to separate, but Harry places a kiss on his lips to calm him, softly saying, "trust me," before he guides Niall's hands to rest on his perfect, muscular thighs. Niall wants to grab at him again, be close as he fucks himself on Harry's cock, but when Harry thrusts up again, shoving up into his body, and Niall wants to scream at how deep Harry goes, and it's perfect.

"Harry," he pants, and he tries to bounce on his dick from this position, but it's so overwhelming, but Harry fucks up into him all the same. Niall clenches around his cock, and Harry moans at the tight grip around him, murmurs a chant of " _fuck, fuck, fuck_ ," going faster and harder.

His wings are shaking. A few feathers have fallen. He doesn't care.

"I need to be close to you, please," Niall says, and Harry nods silently, and pulls him back in so they're chest to chest again. The angle's not as good, but he's so close to Harry, can feel him breathe out against his neck, his heart almost beating out of his chest, and he wants it this way.  Niall immediately wraps his arms over his shoulders, and he sinks down on him, again and again and again.

"Ni, fuck," Harry growls in his ear, and Niall rolls down, his own prick leaking pre-cum all over Harry's stomach, and he's so close. Could rub off against Harry's abs if he wanted to. "So fucking perfect, Angel, god-"

"Haz," he whines, trying to slam down in such a way that his cock would get some friction. Wants to come without having to use his hand. Knows he wants to do it.

" _Fuck_ ," and that's his warning before Harry's thrusting, one, two, three, and Niall can feel him come through the thin rubber of the condom. It's like he doesn't stop coming for a long fucking time, minute little jerks up into his body, and Niall holds him, Harry's chin tucking into his shoulder.

"You, now," Harry says, and he's physically moving Niall up and down on his still hard cock, and Niall's sure that can't be all too pleasant for him.

"I'll just go wank, you're done-"

Harry shuts him up, lips smashed against his mouth, and he can't stop the moan that pours out of him when Harry fucks in just right. He pushes in again in that same way, over and over, Niall's cock rubbing against his stomach just so, until-

" _Harry_ ," Niall groans, and he comes hard all over Harry's torso, never laying a hand on himself, and Harry groans as well when Niall's arse clenches around him spasmodically as he comes down.

Niall can feel him tremble a bit, when Harry settles back into the pillows, pulling Niall down to lay down beside him.

"You're amazing," Harry murmurs into his skin, and he feels it, despite the sweat and come all over them.

He forces himself to grab a few pulls of tissue from the box on the nightstand, and cleans them up as well as he's willing to post-orgasm.

"Thank you for that," Niall tells him softly, staring down at the stupid butterfly on his stomach as he tries to quell the oncoming blush. "I...Thank you. You're perfect. Everything. Thank you."

He doesn't see Harry's expression, but he knows what he's feeling. Can feel it in the kiss, softer from the others, that Harry places on his temple, on his mouth. Feels it in the way he cuddles up to him, holds him close.

He falls asleep with lips pressed against his heart, and he can tell.

Can tell that his fierce affection isn't just that anymore. Hasn't been just that for awhile.

 

*

 

The next time, Niall fucks him in Harry's bed, and Niall has to cover his mouth when he screams as he comes, his spunk covering their chests. He reaches over and grabs at Niall's ass, making him fuck back inside his hole, and tells him to keep going. From the looks and sounds of it, he'd like to believe that Niall had never come so hard in his life.

That is, until the next time. And the next. And so on. It's amazing, all of it.

But. His favorite bit has to be the thing that comes after. When he curls up wit Niall behind him, and just he holds him close, listening to him breathe, and getting to wake up with him, wrapped in his arms. Or, when they can't seem to fall asleep, and they talk a bit, aimlessly, about everything.

His favorite bit has to be the part when Niall's blue blue eyes brighten up at him, tired but content with a smile on his face that's reserved just for him. He locks it away in his mind, wants to latch on to it, and knows that the hammering of his heart whenever he sees Niall runs much deeper than he's admitting audibly now.

 

*

 

"Nice of you to join me in the last hour of gym, Harry," Louis smirks at him when he enters, he and two of his duplicates on the treadmills.

"Sorry, Lou," Harry apologizes, smiling sheepishly, and he goes over to the weights. "Just got caught up."

"What did Niall do this time?" Louis asks him, and he flicks smartly on his own neck, his clones also pointing at different parts of their torsos. One, the hip, just above the waistband of his boxers, the other, a hand rubbing all over his chest. All three of them are cocking their eyebrows at him, and kind of failing at not laughing.

Harry ignores them, knows that his skin is littered with lovebites everyfuckingwhere, and maybe, _maybe_ , there are bruises where Niall had gripped at him as Harry rode him a couple of hours ago, _maybe_ he should have worn a shirt, probably cover most of it up, but it's not any of their business anyway.

"Fuck off, Lou."

"Can't. Unlike some people here, I can't just go to my admittedly very fit teammate to go at it a bit, lucky tit you are-"

"Please stop talking," Harry gives him a look, and he's actually uncomfortable now, and wishes Louis would leave it.

Louis takes the hint, and Harry takes the little nod and sheepish looks directed towards him as an apology, for now. He'll make him properly apologize later when they're in the boxing ring.

"In all seriousness though, Atlas," Louis begins. "Good on you. Niall's a great guy, proper worship him. Make sure he does the same to you. Go have your fun and everything, but don't lose focus."

"I'm not," Harry replies, but Louis isn't done.

"I'm not trying to call you out or anything, mate, but," Louis stops the treadmills and instantly, his duplicates are gone. "You've been slipping. Zayn told me you kind of bombed the gadget training exercise the other day, and Paul's been telling Liam to help you out with recon because your work hasn't been as good lately."

Harry remembers, and he feels a flush of shame. The work, admittedly, didn't sound as appealing. Never did, but now that he and Niall have been off doing whatever, it's just looked less and less like a priority.

"Sorry."

"Nothing to apologize for, mate," Louis waves off his apology with a grin. "I just want you to understand, yeah? I only ever got by at Cowell's because I knew how to use my powers, I was shit at the actual studying and learning. But I met you, and you just worked so hard and it made me feel bad about myself, yeah? You took it so, so serious, and you're so good now because of it, and it made me feel like I had to reevaluate my work ethic. I'm all caught up on the readings I ignored while at the academy, and I quite like recon, now."

Harry stares at him, and it surprises him, somewhat. Louis has always been so confident, very gung ho about the mission and everything, but he doesn't strike as the academic type, doesn't seem to be the type to give a shit about the theoretical and just jumps into the practical. It surprises Harry that _he_ had kind of motivated Louis to change that.

"And I get it, it's amazing, to have someone who can make you so happy and just make even the shitty things look tolerable," Louis tells him with a soft smile on his face. "And it's new, yeah?"

"Almost been two months," Harry quietly supplies, and his heart pounds in his chest. Feels a sudden slight lightheadedness. Two months, felt more like years, and it's been amazing, he can't remember a time that he's been so. Happy.

"That's great," Louis says, and he takes a seat on the bench in front of Harry. "But you've got to remember that you're here for a reason, before you met Niall or any of us. You're here for your mum, and Gemma, yeah? You've got to keep working at this. Keep getting good at it. He shouldn't distract you from this."

"He doesn't distract me," he tells him, and he can't stop. "Niall, he. He encourages me all the time. Makes me feel like I can do anything. Makes me feel safe, and he's my light, you know? He's my angel, and."

He can't continue, feels a lump lodging his throat, and he can't come up with the proper words anyway. Louis looks at him, softly, understanding.

He pats Harry's knee as he gets up, then his back, and Harry takes in the offered comfort before Louis is declaring, loudly and boisterously, "I'm gonna head back early. Want to shower and look good for my FaceTime date with El."

"Shouldn't you finish the session? There's still forty minutes left."

"Shouldn't you have arrived on time? Pretty sure you sucking face with Niall isn't a better reason to be over an hour late."

"Wanker," Harry mutters, picking up the weights again as Louis exits the gym, cackling.

 

*

 

"Excellent, Atlas," Paul tells Harry when he finishes the obstacle course, designed especially for him by Zayn. He's quite sure he's experienced nothing more grueling in his life, as of that moment. "Great, great improvement. Keep it up. That's all for today, I've got a meeting with the recon team, but keep doing what you're doing. You're already there."

Harry smiles at him, his heart still beating too fast and his muscles still screaming at him for him to do anything else.

With a firm pat on Harry's shoulder (Harry can feel his knees buckle, almost giving out, and _fuck_ , he's going to give Blaze an earful later), Paul leaves the warehouse.

"Told you you could do it," Niall yells at him from where he's sat on the rafters, looking smug and handsome and beautiful and Harry wants him next to him.

"Come down here, please," Harry can't be bothered to shout, he's still tired. Niall laughs, but he flies down all the same, landing gracefully in front of him.

"You're so good," Niall gather Harry in his arms, and Harry immediately tucks his face in Niall's shoulder, clings on to him. Niall kisses his temple, and rubs his back, smooth motions that relax him. "So good, so proud of you."

"I hate Zayn," he says in monotone, and Niall laughs. Harry can feel it vibrating against his chest, and it makes him hold Niall closer.

"You don't mean that."

"Course I don't, just let me say it," Harry huffs against his neck, and Niall just laughs again. He breathes  Niall in, wraps his arms over his shoulders, and Niall's lips against his jaw and his hands on his hips make him feel so secure. "You don't have to keep on watching me, you know."

"I like being here for your power development, like watching you get stronger each time," Niall pulls back, and _fuck_ , he's so hot. It might just be because he's so exhausted, but Harry kind of wants Niall to pin him to a wall or summat and just fuck him.

He's never got a top on, can't because of the wings, but as many times he's been exposed to Niall's torso, Harry cannot seem to get enough of how he's just slightly built, thin but well defined, and his arms, his fingers, and christ. Still remembers the day he first saw Niall, still thinks he looks magnificent, in every aspect. And _fuck_ , he wants him, right now.

"Reckon you could fuck me," Harry says, pulling Niall back towards him so that he knows he's serious.

"Here?" Niall asks, and he's got a bit of a smirk on his face, and Harry cannot help but be attracted to it, too. "You're supposed to be tired."

"Never tired when it comes to you," Harry tells him, and he mouths at Niall's jaw, his thumbs dipping into Niall's waistband. Feels the blood rush to his dick and the pain feels a little more muted, overtaken by arousal and want.

"You want me?" Niall whispers in his ear, voice low and coy and he's biting at Harry's earlobe gently, and pushing his crotch against Harry's. Harry can feel that he's halfway there, his cock thickening in the confines of his jeans.

"Yeah, I really want you," Harry growls, and he's smashing his lips on Niall's and shoves his tongue into his mouth.

Niall groans into his mouth, and grabs the back of his head, pushing him closer. Harry slips his hands into the back of Niall's jeans, palming his arse and grinds their clothed cocks together.

Niall walks them over to the nearest wall, refuses to do it on the floor because he's "got a little semblance of decency, _christ,_ " and they get their kits off with little grace, too much in a hurry to care.

"You're so pretty," Harry mumbles, mouthing at Niall's chest, hands everywhere, trying to touch as much of him as possible.

"You're pretty breathtaking yourself," Niall tells him, nipping at his jaw, and he picks up the lube from the back pocket of Harry's jeans on the floor, and slicks up his fingers. "Christ, been alive for so long, never seen or met anyone like you-"

" _Ni_ ," Harry whines, and a finger is pressed up against his hole, and he throws his head back, hitting the wall behind him, moaning when Niall pushes his perfect finger into him, slowly, until he's buried to the knuckle, and it feels so fucking good, but he doesn't add more, and Niall's a prick, actually.

Harry pouts at him, and Niall grins back, leaving a love bite on his neck, and Harry's so turned on it's quite painful, his cock rubbing between their stomachs.

"Heeyyyy, Ni, come on, this is mean," Harry says, still pouting, and he tries to fuck back on the finger, but it's not nearly enough.

"Sorry, love," he replies, not looking very apologetic, and he adds another finger at the slowest pace possible, and Harry's not in the mood for teasing, so he grabs Niall's hand and guides it to shove both fingers in him, all the way, in one quick motion.

"Haz, hey," Niall tries to frown, but it fails, and Harry, for all his trouble to get himself laid, gets a light pinch on his hip, and, unexpectedly, fingers dancing against his ribs, leading up to his armpits.

" _Christ_ , Niall," Harry yelps, scrambling to get Niall to stop, and he should never have told them that he was ticklish. The other lads have been ruthless, trying to figure out his weakest spot by blindsiding him every chance they got. Niall had been more considerate, but Harry expected it less when he'd feel hands skittering across his skin, catching him off guard.

"Sorry, sorry love," Niall laughs, but he kisses his cheek, then the corner of his mouth, and appeases Harry by pushing three fingers in, faster and harder.

"That's it," Harry groans, and he finds Niall's mouth, kissing him deeply, moaning into it when Niall angles just so, his fingertips prodding at his prostate.

"This enough for you?" Niall, the absolute prick, smiles slyly at him, and Harry doesn't know whether to kiss him or yell at him.

"Put your fucking knob in me, you fucking knob," Harry tells him, and Niall grins at him, one more time, before he pulls his fingers out to roll on a condom. Niall grabs at his thigh, pushes his leg up so he can get to his arse, and Harry feels the head of his prick line up against his hole before it shoves up into him.

"God, so good, Harry," Niall moans, and he's balls deep almost immediately, and Harry's thankful for it. He snakes his arms over Niall's shoulders, arms just touching his wings, pulling them together so they're chest to chest, and Niall pulls almost the entire way out, and fucks back into Harry's body.

Harry buries his face in Niall's shoulder, biting into the skin, and it just makes Niall fuck him harder, driving into him and moving him up further on the wall.

"Get your legs up around me, yeah?" Niall tells him, his lips hovering over his own, touching but not full on pressing.

"Lazy sod," Harry mumbles, and it makes Niall laugh into his mouth, but Harry does it anyway, hooking his legs around Niall's waist and locking them together. "Just ran the obstacle of hell,  and making me do shit meant for more flexible people-"

"You're the one who wanted me inside ya, yeah?" Niall chuckles at him, holds him under his thighs, and thrusts harder still into his hole. "Relax, Haz, I'll take care of you."

Harry moans when Niall's cock brushes against his prostate, and he fists his own, muttering, "Fuck, god, harder, Angel."

Niall gives him what he asks for, without reserve, and Harry has to hide his face in his neck again, clutches on to him, and it feels more intense than usual. The way Niall's dicking into him, his breathing, the way he's muttering a litany of " _fucking, fuck, shit_ ,” in his ear, and the hand that’s replaced his on his cock, pulling him off so fucking perfectly, and.

“ _Angel_ ,” Harry whines breathily, and he wants to move, want to push and and meet Niall halfway, but he’s pinned to the wall, and christ, all he can do is take it, and it’s so fucking hot, but he needs more. “Niall, fuck me, please, I’m-”

“Almost there, love,” Niall kisses him, thrusting in harder. “Fuck, you’re everything, fuck.”

Harry clenches around him on every push in, and Niall jerks him off faster, his hand a blur on Harry’s prick, and it’s so, so, so good.

He’s so close, can feel it building up in the pit of his stomach, and when Niall fucks into him perfectly in time with his hand on his cock, he lets go.

“ _Fucking shit_ ,” he groans, shoving into Niall’s hand as he comes, shooting all over himself, almost up to his chest, and leaking down over Niall’s fingers, his cock pulsing. as he squeezes around Niall.

Niall waits for him, lets Harry bite into his shoulder as he calms himself down, lets go of his prick to run a hand up and down his side to soothe him.

“Alright, there?” Niall asks him quietly, pressing a kiss to his forehead, and Harry feels a dull throb in his chest. It’s good, though.

He nods silently in reply, and digs his heels in at the small of Niall’s back, and he moves slowly to start with, thrusting into Harry carefully.

Niall builds up the pace, going a little faster, a little harder, but still mindful of Harry. He’s over-sensitive, but it’s not as painful as it is toe-curlingly good, still makes him moan.

He moves slightly to drag the tips of this toes over the swell of Niall’s ass, Niall’s wings beating against his legs, and Niall groans, fucking in in in, burying his face in Harry’s neck.

“I love you,” Niall murmurs, so soft, right in his ear, and he comes, milking himself in Harry’s arse, moaning and leaving kisses all over his skin, anywhere he can reach.

Harry doesn’t know how to react, so he doesn’t. Doesn’t move, doesn’t say anything, but his heart thuds in his chest, loud and louder still, and he’s overwhelmed. Wants to say it back, but. He’s not ready for that, not yet.

Niall pulls out of him, slowly, carefully, and steadies him when he sets his feet on the ground. His knees almost give out from under him, and Niall holds him close, ignoring the come on Harry’s stomach, the condom on his dick, and just tucks his chin on Harry’s shoulder. Harry still doesn’t know what to do, so he does what he can, and holds Niall back. Kind of can't believe Niall would choose now to say that, in the warehouse after he'd gone through hell on earth on that obstacle course and a thorough fucking, but. It doesn't feel any less important, any less true and genuine and Harry so, so wants to echo it back to him.

“I love you,” Niall tells him again, and it doesn’t sound like he’s waiting for Harry to say it back. Just says it because it’s the truth, and he just wants it known.

Harry closes his eyes, feels like his heart is going to explode out of his chest and like he’s the calmest he’s ever been, all at once, and he kisses Niall, hoping it expresses everything he’s feeling, because he can’t find his voice. Feels like the words had lodged up his throat.

 

*

 

“Haz? You’ve--Oh, hey Ni."

"Hi, Liam," Niall mumbles sleepily from the couch, snuggling closer to the warmth, and burying his face in Harry's jumper.

"What is it, Payno?" Harry asks, beckoning Niall to lay his head on his shoulder so he's more comfortable, and seeing Niall look so sleepy and tired is so endearing, hardly had any rest these past few days because Paul thought he could use some last minute training in power development. Harry runs his hands through his hair, and his heart swells when Niall presses a kiss right on his dimple in thanks, completely not caring that Liam was watching them, maybe three feet away.

"Cal from externals told me to tell you that you've got a call on the main line. It's your mum," Liam tells him, and that catches his attention.

"She could've called me directly," Harry says, confused, but all Liam does is shrug in reply.

"Go talk to her, Haz," Niall murmurs, kissing the corner of his mouth again before patting at his thigh to get him moving. "I'll just head down to my room for a kip. Come find me when you're done."

"Alright, sleep well," Harry tells him, dropping a kiss on his forehead as he gets up, Liam looking away with a slight blush underneath his beard, and makes his way to the offices.

He smiles at Cal on the way in, whose smile in turn looks a bit strained as he stares at Harry, and it throws him off. In the entirety of his time in 8, Cal always saw good things in the future for Harry, had smirked when Harry had confessed that Niall had caused a love bite on his neck, said that he envisioned it months ago.

"Don't keep her waiting," he says before Harry can ask, having predicted (legitimately) what Harry would have wanted to ask, and _of course_ , when it should really, really intrigue Harry is when he doesn't say anything. Doesn't have a problem telling him what he sees Niall making for dinner, or telling him to side with Zayn when him and Louis have an argument later on regarding something stupidly useless, like he wasn't going to, anyway. Zayn's always right.

"Hello?" he says into the receiver when he gets to the phone, settling down on the chair next to it.

"Hi, love," he hears his mum reply, and he suddenly remembers how much he misses her. Wishes he could hug her and really talk to her and. Maybe introduce Niall to her. "How've you been?"

"I'm good," Harry tells her, but doesn't elaborate. Just wants to hear about what they've been doing back home, every little mundane thing. About how Gemma can't decide what color she wants to dye her hair next, or whatever incredibly expensive Robin's got for her and how she feels bad about having it because that money could have gone to feeding children in Africa and.

Christ. He misses home.

"I'm good. Just, training, and getting used to things," he says, and he wants to say something about Angel. Tell her how happy he is since everything with Niall started, but he holds it in, wants to keep it to himself for now. They'll cross that bridge when they get there.

"How's everything back home? You and Gemma and Robin alright?"

"We're fine," Anne answers, and it's a beat too late. She sounds hesitant, unsure, and Harry can tell something is wrong.

"Mum? You're not telling me something," he says, and he grips the phone tighter. "What's going on?"

She's quiet, and Harry doesn't quite know how to react when she tells him, "I don't want to worry you, we're fine."

"I'll be more worried if you don't tell me," he replies. "What happened, mum? I'll be finding out anyway over here, but I'd rather hear it from you."

Anne doesn't say anything for what seems like a minute, and he doesn't know how much more of this he can really handle, but she begins explaining, slowly, carefully, calmly.

"There was an evacuation earlier this afternoon. The entire block was out on the street, and no one knew what was happening, really, but news got around that the embassy was under seige."

"Mum," he breathes out; the embassy was only a few buildings away from where she worked. He'd passed it often, greeted the guards who stood out in front whenever he went to visit his mum.

"No one was hurt so far, love. But they haven't released the people inside yet. I don't know if. I...I don't know."

She sounds more shaken now, more affected than she had let on, and Harry wants more than anything to be there and be with her. Wants to comfort her. Be of more use than he is now.

"Are you alright?" He has to ask, feeling stupidly useless, but he has to know.

"I, Harry. I don't know," she tells him, and he feels so helpless. "I don't know, I really don't. And I've got friends over there, I've been trying to call you for the last few hours, love, but you weren't answering. Those men you told me to watch out for, a few of them were sighted entering the building this morning. I'm not sure if it's been confirmed, but they're quite sure that it's them. I was so scared. Still am."

He can't quite breathe properly. Feels like he's going to vom all over himself, a painful sting building up behind his eyes, telling him he's just a bit away from bursting into tears.

"Mum," he struggles to get out, "I. I'm sorry, I should've-"

"It's alright love," she tells him. "No need to apologize over anything. I just wanted to hear your voice. Always helps me feel better."

He breaks at that, feels his resolve crumble as he hides his face in his free hand, the tears falling and dripping down the end of his nose, tries to be silent about it all.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, hardly audible.

"No need to say sorry, Harry," Anne tells him, voice resolutely firm and stable despite the earlier shakiness. "You're over there, training, learning how to fight and. Being strong, because the rest of us can't. I know you're doing your best, and I cannot tell you how proud I am of you."

It doesn't make Harry feel any better. Just makes him feel incompetent, feels useless, because he's here to protect his family, but.

"I'm sorry," he has to say again, and he knows that she can tell that he's crying. "I'll do better for you."

"Like you're already not doing enough, love," she tells him, and he realizes.

He still feels like he isn't. Whatever he's doing now, it's not enough, not enough if something like this can happen to his mother. If she can't be safe in her own place of work.

And he needs to change that, in whatever way he can.

 

*

 

He realizes when Niall knocks on his door, hours later, that he was meant to come find him after taking the call.

"Haz? Are you alright?" Niall asks quietly, taking small, sure steps towards where Harry's sat on the bed.

"Not really," he replies, and he knows Niall's stopped right in front of him, but he doesn't look up from where his face is in his hands.

"Do you need anything?"

Niall sounds so soft, so concerned, but for once, it doesn't help him. Just makes him feel like he's about to cry, from frustration and anger.

"I need to get better," he answers shortly, and he looks up then.

Niall stares at him, blue eyes bright and unreadable. "I don't understand-"

"I need to get better," Harry repeats, harder, and he glares back, and he knows he shouldn't take any of this out on Angel, but it's eating away at him, makes him want to take it out on _anything_ that'll let him have a go at it.

"If this is about what happened at the embassy," Niall begins to say, and Harry can't help but scoff.

"Paul must've informed all of you, yeah?" Harry grits out, and he's not in the mood.

"Haz-"

"You know my my mum, she worked nearby. She was that close to those lunatics. She could've gotten hurt."

"That isn't your fault-"

"But what am I doing to help prevent that?"

"You're here," Niall tells him, sounding so sure and quiet and maybe proud. "You gave up any normalcy you had to train here and be part of a team."

"I'm here, but what's the use of everything I'm doing here if I can't protect the people I came here to protect?" Harry tells him, and he's mad, suddenly. Because Niall doesn't understand. Hasn't, really, for awhile.

"Being ready to protect them, to fight against people like this, that takes time, and training, Harry," Niall answers, and he's still calm, still so unerringly firm and. "You're doing more than enough. You're doing so much good."

"And yet," Harry mutters, bitterly. He knows he shouldn't, but, "Just because you're used to this."

Neither of them say anything, and it's silent for much too long.

"If you think I'm taking this lightly, I'm not," Niall tells him, and it's even more quiet than before.

"You don't understand, Niall."

"I do," Niall tells him, and the lack of volume in his tone is almost worrying. "I really do. I understand, more than you know."

"Maybe. A long time ago," Harry says, and it comes out venomous. "But my family, they're still here. They're the reason I'm here. You don't understand that feeling now. You don't have anyone you're here for."

"I'm here for you," Niall tells him, and Harry looks back at him then. Sees the brightness in his eyes, the shine from unshed tears. "I came here to protect everyone else, but I stayed here for you. For you and everyone you love, because. I love you. Immensely."

"And fat lot of help, your love has given me," Harry mutters, and he can't leave it there. "All you've done is distract me from what's really important. Louis was right. I've lost my focus, and I can't do this with you. What has your love ever done for me? What will it ever give me?"

As soon as the words leave his mouth, he wants to snatch them back, because they _weren't true_. Knows of everything here, Niall's the one who's given him everything. He's the reason he stayed, too.

Niall's the one who looks at him then, and he's not quite crying, but his lip quivers the slightest bit, and Harry knows he's not far from breaking down.

"Niall, I," Harry starts to backtrack, and he tries to reach out for him, but Niall backs away, his wings curling around him, and he looks small in that moment. Of all things, Niall has never been small, ever, but. "Angel-"

"If that's what you think," Niall tells him, voice barely a murmur, and he leaves the room, closing the door quietly behind him.

And Harry. Doesn't know what to do, wants to go after him and grovel at his feet and apologize and not make him cry, but he can't make himself move.

So he stays where he is.

 

*

 

Niall won't even look at him anymore. It's eating him alive.

It hurts, because he knows he deserves it, somewhat. Niall was just trying to help him, and Harry threw his concern, his love, that he didn't deserve, back at him. Might as well have slapped him with it.

The others had found out, almost immediately after, and had reacted differently to the development.

Liam had found him, the night of, in the kitchen. Harry wanted tea, maybe had thought (hoped) Angel might have gone to get some, as they usually did in the late hours of night.

Harry waited for hours, sitting by the island with chai, a ginger and lemon cup next to it. Lightning walked in to make coffee, as he usually did, a little after five in the morning. Took one look at Harry and his red rimmed eyes, his death grip on his cup, the tea untouched, and wordlessly walked over to sit next to him. They had just sat there, Liam maybe rubbed his back a bit to comfort him, Harry doesn't quite remember, but he knows they didn't talk. Just sat there until Niall walked in a few hours later, not looking at either of them, and made breakfast.

Had slid a plate of eggs and hash and sausage in front of Harry, pushing Liam's share onto his hands, and left to go to his room.

Harry had cried then, his grip on the cup finally giving, the porcelain shattering into shards and the tea spilling and running everywhere.

Liam still sat with him, still silent.

Louis had been less subtle.

He stormed in, with at least five clones, into the gym a day after, maybe an hour later than his usual late, and all of them had stared Harry down from where he was sat at the bench.

With the faintest pop, the duplicates had disappeared, and Louis waits for a moment before saying, deadly quiet, "This. This wasn't what I meant. You mentioned my name, you twat. But this. This was the wrong way to go about things, you absolute fuckface."

Harry wasn't in the right state to even think of a reply, so he just picked up the weights, wanting Louis to leave him alone.

"What happened to Niall being your angel, you twit? The fuck, did you mean any of it?"

"Leave me alone, Lou," Harry muttered, holding the bar so tightly that he was leaving an imprint.

"Fucking- You know what?" Louis had said, and he made Harry look him straight in the eye, grabbing his face and turning him towards him. He looked lethal. "You've no idea how much you've fucked everything up. You think you do but you really, really don't. Niall loves you, you idiot. Despite everything, he still loves you. He won't verbally admit it, but you've always been his favorite. Always cared about you the most, and he did fucking _everything_ for you, Harry. Just. Stop making everything about you and consider him, for a minute."

He had left the room then, completely missing out his gym session, and Harry had broken the handle of the weight, cleanly in half.

Zayn had been quiet, quieter than usual, when he and Harry had their gadget training session. Had just pointed at the different parts of the prototype for Harry's uniform, giving soft, barely there explanations about its features, but he doesn't sound mean. Doesn't sound mad. Just is, just as patient as he had been before.

It's after Harry had tried on the suit, still clunky and and unfinished and not very appealing, and was wrestling and muttering to get out of it, when he says something.

"You really hurt him, you know," Zayn had said softly, walking over to help him remove it, and his deft hands manage to extract the suit from Harry's body. "You shouldn't have said that."

"I know I was wrong," he had replied, and he feels naked, standing there in his boxers and under Zayn's tired but scrutinizing eye. "I feel like shit about it all, but. I don't know how to talk to him. How to apologize."

Harry had always known that everyone had a soft spot for Niall. Initially, it had been because he was a renowned hero, and everyone wanted to be in his good graces. But, eventually, once they had realized that it wasn't all that difficult to get on Niall's good side and be his friend, they all had grown to love him, because it really wasn't difficult to. He was everyone's favorite. But Harry had a great inkling that Zayn was especially fond of Niall. Always looked out for him, put him in higher regard and Harry knew. Zayn loved Niall, not in the way he loves Perrie, but it was honest, genuine, and.

Harry felt doubly awful. Because Zayn had looked so downtrodden, as if he had siphoned off a bit of Niall's sadness and taken it upon himself to try to help him feel better.

He looked sad, and disappointed.

"Is that all you'd want to say to him?" Zayn had asked him, and Harry couldn't look at him.

He bowed his head, stared down at the ground. He heard Zayn give a resigned sigh, and a murmured, "Session's over. See you for dinner later."

He left the room in a hurry, feeling as if his chest were about to explode.

Group exercises were shit. They'd lost to the newbie team, imported from Australia with four guys who were younger than them, not because Niall wouldn't go anywhere near Harry or help him out when he knew he was in a bind, because he did, despite what a shit Harry'd been to him. Had grabbed on to Ashton just as he was about to create an earthquake, right where Harry stood, and flown into the air with him trying to wrestle out of his hold. Had attacked and dismantled, with Zayn's help, a Raubtier that was charging right at Harry. Was still so great, so at ease and  _amazing._

They had no reason to lose, but Harry couldn't focus, ironically. Kept glancing back at Niall, couldn't help but notice the perpetual state of indifference and resignation on his face, so incredibly unlike the excitement and energy he usually exuded, but he was no less impressive on the field, all the same. Was still graceful, deft and sure and balanced, and so were the others. But it all came down to him.

He hadn't been looking or paying any sort of attention when Michael, sly little shit he is, had jumped in front of Harry and set off a great flash of light, his skin glowing and emitting a bomb of bright bright bright light. He hadn’t closed his eyes in time, and he was quite sure he’d been blinded.

It hadn't done any real damage, in the long run. But it was enough for Harry to get disoriented, and the other team to pull ahead and retrieve the citizen, and win.

The aftermath was awful.

Louis outright ignored him, and would literally stick his nose up in the air whenever Harry was in the vicinity.

Liam offered to help him with gym and his other sessions, to help him improve, because he obviously felt sorry for Harry, no matter what excuse he'd try to give.

Zayn didn't _not_ acknowledge him, per se. But he was always with Niall now, so Harry hardly ever saw him, in any case.

Paul gave him a long, winding sermon a few days after, and it was apparently clear that he was disappointed and let down and _really_ , as if he needed more reasons to be disappointed with himself.

He saw Niall after he had gotten out of Paul's lecture in the conference room. He'd looked like he was waiting by the door, to see how he was doing. Before Harry could even question why he was there, Niall had wrapped him up in his arms, his wings folding in around them like before, the way he'd always liked, and Harry melted. Tucked his face in Niall's neck and breathed him in, and it felt like time stopped. Felt like he'd been given a reprieve.

But. As soon as he'd been held, he was let go. And Niall left without another word.

And he still won't look at him.

 

*

 

They receive intelligence a few days later.

TW had been sighted in the capital, again with the Prime Minister, entering and exiting Parliament for the ongoing conferences and meetings about the terrorism bill, and they're being too obvious about it, but. None of them are seeing it the way Niall is, maybe apart from Zayn.

"The vote will be in less than a week," Paul tells them, looks grim and serious from where he stands at the head of the table, back in the room where they all first met. The wall behind him projects captures of TW, four men, cool and collected and much too confident, flanking the Prime Minister, who has absolutely no business being with them. Definitely the shapeshifter. "If what we've been receiving is right, they've somehow gotten hold of the real minister, and in his place, Sykes will deliver a speech prior to the formal vote and present the Raubtiers as the new 'Symbol of Hope,' of sorts. To protect and guard."

"It's too obvious," he has to interrupt, staring at the file in front of him labeled 'Operation: Beute.' The plan's too obvious. They can't just barge in while he's giving the fucking speech, they have to be more clever than that. "No disrespect, Steel, but we have to rethink our strategy. We cannot push through with this. It will be too chaotic."

"I agree," Louis, surprisingly, says. "I know you've probably thought this through, but we have to be smarter about it. Of course they'd be bloody expecting us to jump in then."

Liam nods next to him, reading over the documents in his file, and he glances over to Harry on his other side, who hasn't even opened his folder. Just staring at it blankly.

"I told you we wouldn't go for it," Zayn mutters from beside him, and he's looking pointedly at Paul. He hasn't opened his folder either.

"Then if you have an alternative, gentlemen," Paul tells them, and he looks more tired than anything.

It's silent for longer than necessary. The other three on the other side of the table just look down on their respective mission files, and Blaze keeps tapping at his own, and Niall can practically hear the gears in his super genius mind turning as he tries to come up with a better plan.

But he's faster. Has thought about it ever since he found out how the Raubtiers targeted their victims.

"Invite them to a neutral zone," he says, and everyone in the room turns their heads to look at him. "Have a proper discussion over this. Try to compromise, negotiate before everything else."

"You're batshit," Louis tells him in a whisper, his eyes wide, as if he can't believe his hero just suggested that they have tea with the enemy.

Niall looks over to Paul, stares at him, and puts down his walls. Hopes he gets the message.

Steel stares back, eyes widening as he reads his mind, and he mulls over it for a minute, before finally, he nods, understanding and agreeing.

"Okay, I'll tell Cal to arrange something for tomorrow," he says, still sounding reluctant, and he leaves the room.

"Holy fucking- You're all batshit," Louis yells, and he's staring at Niall, then at the door, then back at Niall. "You're going to get us killed."

"No, I'm not."

"Ni, you just proposed we discuss this with these maniacs, who've proved time and time again that they will stop at nothing to get what they want. They're beyond negotiation, they won't fall for pleasantries," Liam tells him, pushing Louis back to his seat, and Lou looks like he's about to jump on Niall and start hitting him.

"This is more fucking stupid than the initial plan," Louis says, glaring at him.

"I'd rather do the ambush than this," Zayn tells him, but Niall can see his brain trying to work out what he's planning.

"We have to be smart about this," Liam says.

"And we will be," Niall replies, and he's done talking, stares them all down to know that he's serious. Avoids Harry's quiet gaze, knowing he won't be able to handle it, still feels like he's getting his heart broken, like his love isn't worth anything.

Harry. Everything he did for him. It felt like it was worth it. But.

Later, he walks into the lab, sitting down beside where Zayn is looking through something that he's sure works like a microscope, but looks a million times more complicated.

"Let me explain-"

"No need to, Paul already did," he says, not even glancing at him. "I'm already working on the tracker. The rest is easy."

"Still rather do Beute?" NIall asks him.

"Course not, I hate combat, avoid at all costs," Zayn says, giving him a look. "'M more of jealous. Why couldn't I have thought of this myself."

"The experience comes in quite useful, when it comes to this type of thing," Niall tells him, and he's relieved, somewhat. If Zayn thinks it's a good, then it's a step in the right direction.

"MIssion needs a new name, yeah?" Zayn says, lifting the test strip up to eye level, and giving Niall a quick glance. "Harry suggested 'Operation: Archangel,' even though he doesn't know any of the details. I think it's pretty sick."

"Let the plan work first before we call it sick," he replies, and he tries not to react other than that. Wouldn't want Zayn to see how the mere mention of Harry's name gets him worked up.

"He has a lot of faith in you," Zayn says, and it's softer than his usual tone. "Trusts you."

He doesn't say anything. Waits for the rest of what Zayn has to tell him.

"Shouldn't we tell the others? They can't go in blind."

"It's a risk enough having you know, Blaze," Niall answers, though he feels apprehensive about the fact that he can't reveal more to the boys. Never would want any of them to fight without knowing what the plan was, but Max George was powerful. Could extract anything from any of them without them even being aware of it. "It's better if they don't know. Can't have George reading any of their minds and knowing what we're going to do to them. I know Paul will be able to block him from reading your mind, and I can block him on my own, but I don't want to risk any more."

"Sacrificial lamb," Zayn says, barely heard, with a bit of a chuckle. "Don't know if I'm quite ready for this."

"None of us are," Niall replies, and Zayn looks at him. Leans over, and pokes his nipples and above his belly button. It comforts Niall more than he'd like to admit.

 

*

 

TW agrees to meet them in the hotel a few blocks away from Parliament the next day.

The dicks are an hour late, and when they actually go down to the private room Paul had rented out for their meeting, none of them look like they'd really like to be there, which is fair, because Harry, nor any of the others, want to be there either.

"Make this quick," Max George says as he settles down on the seat across from Paul, leaning back in his chair and putting his feet up on the table. The rest of his team take their seats on either side of him, and they're all quite handsome, intimidating and lethal looking. When Max's gaze settles on him for a minute, he feels a chill run down his spine.

"A drink?" Zayn offers, eyes slits as he stares them down, gesturing to the bottle of Dom Perignon in front of him, and if Harry didn't know any better, he'd think Zayn was hissing.

"Not falling for anything, mate, sorry," one of them says with a smirk, and Harry recognizes him to be Siva, the teleporter. As if to show off, he disappears with a pop, an a few second later, reappears, with a bottle of vintage Dom Perignon. "Just popped in the store to get our own. Heard a bloke saying this was the champagne served at Charles and Diana's wedding, said it sold for around 3,000 quid a bottle."

"Did you pay for that, you git," Louis whispers the last word venomously, and the git just smirks back, popping the cork off easily, and proceeded to filling the champagne flutes placed in front of his team, as well as his own.

"Cheers," Max says, grinning at them, and TW raise their glasses in the air, mocking, and drink. "Good stuff, yeah? Want some?"

"You didn't pay for that, so no," Liam says, and he looks uncharacteristically mean. Max just grins again, before drinking again, to taunt them.

"We'd like to negotiate a temporary ceasefire," Niall says straightforwardly, looking determined, not even flinching when they laugh at him. "Let the vote be done in peace. Move this conflict to a more isolated location, and we can settle this properly."

"I thought you were supposed to be the legend," Tom, the one who can shoot lasers out of his eyes, snarls at him. "The Sparrow. Fuck, you're stupidly naive. This is pathetic. You of all people should be the most ready to fight us."

"I've seen enough over the course of my life," Niall replies coolly, not missing a beat, and _christ_ , Harry admires him so much. Even if this plan _is_ batshit. "Don't need to see more violence than needed."

"You lot should know that we're beyond negotiation," the one with invisibility, Jay, tells them.

"This is sad," Nathan Sykes remarks, and he's almost as young as them. Harry wonders how he got dragged into being part of this group. Feels like he could have had more potential than associating with these lunatics. But he's a lunatic too, so.

"We're not negotiating. Fight us, like we know you've been training to do," Max tells them, smirking at them a final time, before he rises from his seat, gesturing for the others to follow. TW leave the room, laughing, and then they're left alone.

"Stupid plan," Louis mutters, shaking his head. "Sorry, Niall, I kiss the ground you walk on, but fuck. This was so fucking stupid."

"The glasses, Blaze," is all Niall says, and Zayn immediately gathers them carefully, touching just the stems, and Paul wordlessly leads them out.

It's back in 8 when things become slightly clearer. They're all ushered into the conference room, and this time, Niall takes the helm, at the end of the table.

"We put a tracker in the champagne," Niall says, jumping right in.

"But they didn't drink the champagne you brought," Liam says, confused.

"We knew they wouldn't," Zayn says. "That's why we lined the insides of the glasses with tracker powder too. It'll last 24 hours. We have to move fast."

"So we're still ambushing them?" Harry asks slowly, not completely following.

"We are, but we're being smart about it," Paul says, and it's quite odd seeing him seated. "We attack before they have the chance to cause mayhem in Parliament. Nip them before the roots even have a chance to touch the soil."

"And we've got an advantage," Niall says, but he doesn't explain any further. Harry wants to talk to him, desperately. "Just be ready tomorrow, lads. Get some rest tonight. Zayn, you know what to do."

He leaves right after, Zayn following in his wake, and Harry, Liam, and Louis stare at them as they exit, then at Paul.

"Just be ready, boys. It'll be a long day tomorrow," is all he says about it, and he ushers them out, and everything is so confusing and why is this so difficult and why are they so secretive and _christ._

Harry prays. Actually _prays_. That this will work. Whatever this is.

 

*

 

The final uniforms make him feel pretty invincible.

Sleek, black leather suits with too many features ("It's bulletproof, climate resistant, hidden pockets on the ribs, biceps, thighs and calfs, explore those, there's loads of cool shit in there, lined with materials that's resistant to elemental mutations of any sort-"), black gloves, with slim pants that tuck into the sickest boots Harry'd ever seen, and he really fucking appreciates Zayn's eye for aesthetic, more so for his forethought. His suit sort of amplifies his strength. Doesn't know how, he nodded off when Zayn had explained, but it's surprisingly light, easy to move around in. Knows Louis's lets him clone himself three times as much, Liam's allows him to move around at the speed of light, rather than the usual which was just the speed of sound.

Running down the front, on his torso, two lines of green leather, from his shoulders angling down to tuck into his belt on his waist, like an unfinished V. Liam's is red, Louis's, blue. Zayn yellow.

He hadn't seen Niall yet.

"Alright, we need to move," Paul enters the hangar, dressed in his own uniform, navy blue and silver leather, no sleeves, his massive arms menacing and intimidating. "Blaze?"

"Tracked their location, they're in Westminster. Whitehall," Zayn answers, and he's gotten a haircut. Sides buzzed off, but the rest long, and he's pulled it into a ponytail. Looks sick, too. "They haven't been sighted at all, though. None of the buildings or streets. Had our agents comb through the area where our trackers said they were. Nothing."

"They're underground, most likely," Niall walks in, finally, and Harry feels his breath catch in his throat. He's gotten a cut too, his hair just a bit shorter, and he still hadn't gotten a dye to freshen up the blonde, the dark roots in his hair more prominent than ever. His uniform fits him unbelievably well, the black leather making his wings look whiter. He looks majestic, his wings stretching out behind him, and his usually naked torso is covered as well, the V tri-colored with the colors of the Irish flag. His arms remain free, though, the subtle muscles more pronounced than usual.

He looks fiercely proud, like a soldier. Like the hero he is.

Harry misses him. So much.

"We need to get a move on, while we still have a location," Zayn says, and he gestures over to the stealth bomber jet. "Paddy's just finishing up pre-flight checks. Be ready to leave in three minutes."

 

*

 

"My signal says they're right down there, exactly," Zayn says, eyes focused on the screen in front of him. Below them, Trafalgar Square, Parliament Square, and government buildings, sprawling all over the area. The place is filled with people at this time of day, many tourists, some latecomers to work, and it's not a lot of people, but it's still much too crowded.

"Right there," he says, pointing at the exact spot where the signal is strongest. And it's-

"The Cenotaph?" Liam says, confused as he stands behind Zayn, peering at the screen.  "They're down there?"

"See anything down there, Caroline?" Paul says, fingers pressed up to his temple, and Harry realizes he's communicating with someone down there. "No sight of them, just a few tourists."

"Underground, I'm telling you," Niall says, and he's standing up from his seat. "Ask her if she sees any sort of door, tunnel, anything that looks out of place there, or anywhere nearby. Any of the buildings or on the street. There's got to be an opening of sorts."

Paul relays the message silently, and after a few minutes, he nods at Niall. "There is something on the Monument to the Women. Zayn?"

"Looking into it now," Zayn says, and his fingers fly across the screen as he zooms in on the site.

Harry stands as well, hating the feeling of being useless, and he stares at the image Zayn's projected. After a moment, he sees it. He points to the monuments, says, "There. The crack on the side, it's too straight to be damage-"

"It's an opening, right on the rear elevation," Zayn confirms, nodding. "Disrespectful gits, defacing monuments-"

"Alright, gather round," Paul tells them, and they stand in front of him in a line. "Operation: Archangel is a go."

Harry feels his heart jump to his throat. He glances over to Niall, who doesn't look the least bit phased.

"The goal is to get Zayn to the control board, the main unit from where they're controlling the Raubtiers. He'll do the rest from there."

"Hang on, you're not telling us more?" Louis butts in. He's looking understandably worried.

"We can't risk it. That lunatic might get something from one of you. It was enough to let Zayn know, we can't risk any of you," Paul explains to them, and it doesn't do much to ease Harry's nerves. "Everything will be fine, I promise you.

"Now, Atlas, you go with Blaze, if anything should try to attack, you take care of it," Paul directs him, and he nods. He glances over at Zayn, who nods at him, and gives him a small, reassuring smile.

"Finite, Lightning, you come with me, we'll be taking care of TW should they attack, or whatever they may direct to fight us. Sparrow, you stay in the air, keep watch. Should you see anything, direct it to me, I'll disperse the message. Attack when needed."

They all nod to show their understanding, and then Paddy's activating the invisibility on the jet as he descends, quickly, swiftly, to the ground. The bomb bay doors open, and they stand around it as the plane hovers, maybe fifteen feet above the ground, next to the monument.

"Good luck, Don't get killed," Paul tells them, gives them a signal when the coast is clear, and they're off.

Zayn jumps off first, landing nimbly on his feet, and gestures for Harry to follow him. Harry jumps down after him, following his lead, and they run to the monument. Zayn feels around for the door, and a moment later, nods at Harry, pointing at the crack, barely visible. Harry steps back a bit, before lunging forward and forcing the stone to collapse, revealing a tunnel.

He follows Zayn in, hearing the others walk behind him, and the tunnel stretches on, angling down slightly as they descend, further on. It simultaneously feels like it's been hours and hardly any time passed at all when Zayn comes to a stop in front of him, and in front of him is a metal door, carelessly installed in the roughly chipped at stone of the underground.

"They know we're here," Paul says quietly, and the nerves are back, full force.

He feels a hand on his back, and it's Niall, and though he's not looking at him, instead focused on the rest of the group, his touch is firm, meant for only him. "We'll be fine, lads. Don't let the shits scare you."

Then, there's an unfamiliar presence in his mind, scoffing, and sneering, _'Don't delude yourselves, now.'_

Knows from the looks on the other's faces that he wasn't the only one to get the message.

Zayn wordlessly then jabs at each of their shoulders, including his own, and Harry realizes there's some sort of button there, and he feels like something is attaching itself to the whole length of his spine, up to his neck going up to his brain, and its momentarily painful, searing and sharp.

"Sorry," Zayn says, and he's shaking off the sensation coolly. "Forgot I added this bit in. That'll be enough to stop him from manipulating you lot. Can still read your mind, haven't gotten enough time in the lab to study how to put that in the suit-"

"This is enough," Louis says, and he's flexing his fingers. "Come on, let's get this over with."

Paul then turns into steel, his skin now shining and looking invincible, and he easily knocks the door down. Inside, a warehouse, at least five times the size of the training arena back in 8, housing army upon army of Raubtiers.

Harry feels his heart drop to the bottom of his stomach.

"Control room's there," Zayn points out to a tower overlooking the mechanical creatures on the far side of the room.

"I'm off, good luck," Niall says, and he takes off gracefully into the air, twirling once shooting straight up, then gliding.

_'You're not going to win.'_

"Ignore him, come on," Zayn tells Harry, pulling at his wrist to get him moving. He hears Paul instructing Louis and Liam around, but he follows Zayn off to the tower, and strangely, nothing attacks them.

_'That's not for long, though. Sparrow's saying that the first block of Raubtiers is moving towards where you're heading, Atlas,'_ he hears Pauls voice filter into his mind. _'He's sighted TW, they're off near the rafters. Says they're look like they're waiting for a show, so let's give them one. Stay on guard.'_

Harry nods, sending off a quick _noted_ in reply as he sprints after Zayn, and that's when the first one comes.

He feels rather than sees the Raubtier running towards them, pushes Zayn forward and out of the way, and turns just in time to see the thing launch itself into the air, coming down to attack him, but he's not quick enough.

The Raubtier swings an arm at him, and the contact is _painful_ , feels the metallic arm get crushed as it hits his side. He's flung off to the side, several feet away, and he brings down several immobile robots down with him.

"Haz!"

"Go, Blaze, I'll be up in a mo'," he bellows out, and he doesn't check to see if Zayn went ahead and did as he was told. Gets up, wincing at the slight residual pain from the Raubtier's hit, but it's not too bad, can still move, doesn't feel like anything's been broken, the uniform doing wonders.

He looks up, sees that the thing is up as well, its right arm almost completely smashed in.

"Fuck you," he mutters, and he breaks into a run, the Raubtier mirroring his motions, and he throws himself at it before he can second-guess himself, grabs on to the chest piece covering its heart. Holds on for dear life as the Raubtier tries to pry him off, rips off the still functional arm when it points its reactors on him, and he punches a hole cleanly through the chest plate. Pulls out the main reactor out of the body, and at once, it falls to the ground, out of energy.

_'Get out of there, Atlas, there's an entire army coming that way. We'll take care of it, but you need to get to Zayn-'_

"Doing my best here, Paul," Harry shouts, not bothering to just think, and he runs towards the control room, practically flying up the steep staircase going up and kicking away a few of the mechanical creatures that manage to catch up to him.

"Get in, Harry!" he hears Louis yell, has an inkling that he had one of his clones jump on the back of the Raubtier currently trying to grab at his foot, making it lose its hold on him. He doesn't need to be told twice, wrenching the door to the room open and throwing himself in, landing on the floor.

"Fucking hell, Haz," Zayn says from where he's hunched over, eyes not leaving the multiple screens in front of him. From where he's still sprawled out on the floor, Harry can see they project different angles of the area, thousands of Raubtiers stockstill, waiting for instruction.

Zayn's fingers are flying across the keyboards and the touchscreens, and too many programs and files open up, one after the other, and it's too quick for Harry to even try to understand.

"Shit," he exclaims, jumping to his feet when his eyes are drawn to two screens in particular. One, Paul, in his all-steel state, Liam, barely even a blur as he moves around, and at least two dozen Louis's, fighting off the Raubtiers, rather effectively, but as soon one goes down, another's activated, and replaces it, a never-ending stream of mechanical creatures. In another, Niall flying high above, fighting off Raubtiers of his own.

"Since when did they fly?" Harry murmurs, watching with his heart in his throat as Niall kicks off one with impossible grace. He doesn't remember a flying feature when he pored over the plans for the robots.

"They probably added it in after they found out Niall was in the team," Zayn doesn't even look at him, still focused on the panels in front of him. "Fucking shit, they're thorough, a million fucking passwords and shit protecting this fucking system-"

"So you can't get in?"

"I'm halfway in, but it's asking for fingerprint scans," Zayn says with a quiet tut, staring at the screen projecting a hand, waiting for prints to be identified.

"Shit," Harry mutters, and he glances back at Niall. He's twirling in the air, fending for himself against six Raubtiers. "Fuck, what are we-"

"Relax yourself, Haz, Niall was thorough too," Zayn tells him, and he's doing something with his glove, Harry's not so sure, and he's pressing his hand against the print.

"What-"

_“Scanning. Welcome, Nathan Sykes.”_

Harry’s jaw drops, and he realizes. “The champagne glasses. The prints.”

Zayn nods, a wry smile on his face, and he says, “The gloves are special, can mimic any pattern I upload into it.” He repeats his earlier motions on his glove, and the scanner identifies him this time as _“Tom Parker._ ”

Soon, all the members of TW are logged in, and Zayn’s in the system fully. He grabs at Harry and starts pulling at a zipper on his suit.

“What-”

“I put it on you, for safekeeping, keep those gits guessing,” he explains, pulling down the zipper near the green leather on Harry’s side. From the pocket within, he pulls out a tiny flash drive, thin and barely noticeable, and plugs it in, and he’s opening several programs open again.

“Blaze,” Harry’s warning, and Zayn looks up, stares at the monitor Harry’s pointing at.

“Holy fuck.”

Almost all the Raubtiers are moving now, in perfect synchronization, and are moving towards where Louis, Liam and Paul are. An entire block flies up, moving towards where Niall is.

The other screen shows TW, laughing at the scene below from where they’re lounging on a balcony overlooking the area. Max George holds a controller in his hand, and with another press of a button, another hundred Raubtiers come to life.

“Shit, shit, shit, give me a minute,” Zayn mutters, and he’s moving faster than ever, fingers a blur on the touchscreen in front of him.

“Zayn, I’m going to go down there, they need my help,” Harry tells him, but Zayn grabs at his arm when he tries to leave.

“Just give me a minute, Haz. Follow your orders,” he tells him sternly, eyes still on the monitors.

“What are you even trying to do?”

“Something,” he replies, and the program for the Raubtiers opens, and Zayn’s uploading some files from the flash drive, and Harry’s got no idea on what’s happening.

“Zayn, what are you trying to do?” he asks again, frustrated.

“I’m reprogramming the Raubtiers, removing the info that makes them target non-carriers of the X-gene,” Zayn explains quickly, looking at the bar loading the information to the control program. “Gonna render  those fucking remotes useless.”

“So the program’ll die?”

“Not quite,” he answers, and he enters code after code and Harry can’t keep up. “I’m hardwiring them to target someone else.”

“Which is?!”

_‘Blaze!’_

“Almost there, Paul!” Zayn yells, and he enters a key, and in one moment, all the Raubtiers stop in their tracks. Liam skids to a stop in the monitor Harry’s keeping an eye on, all twenty-eight Louis’s look around, bewildered, and Paul’s looking a little pleased. Niall’s just gotten his hands off one lifeless Raubtier, scratches on his face and arms and his wings a little less gleaming, looking generally worse for wear, but he huffs out a sigh of relief.

“What,” Harry mutters, and he looks over to where TW are slowly getting up to their feet, smiles wiped from their faces. George jabs at the controller in his hand, but nothing happens.

Wordlessly, Zayn enters another key, and the Raubtiers are fighting _each other,_ destroying one another as blasts of pure energy are fired, reactors pulled out from chest plates.

“Well, that’s quite satisfying,” Zayn remarks coolly as the scene unfolds in front of them. “Before I forget-”

He opens another file in the flash drive, and a series of new codes uploads into the program, hardly taking a few moments to complete.

_‘Their DNA in, Blaze?’_

“Yeah, we’re done here Paul, let’s go,” Zayn says, yanking out the drive and grabbing Harry’s wrist, saying, “We’ve got to get out of here-”

“What did you do-”

“I uploaded those gits’ genetic codes into the Raubtiers’ systems, so they’ll be targeted too,” he answers with a little shrug.

Harry’s mouth opens slightly, and Zayn just gives him a shit-eating grin in reply.

They jump out of the tower, landing on the ground, and they come face to face with utter chaos.

“Watch it,” Zayn says, and he produces a wall of fire when a few duelling robots stagger near where he and Harry have landed. The mechanical creatures walk through it, hardly affected, but Zayn does it again, and this time, the wall is burning a bright, bright blue, reminding Harry of Niall’s eyes, and when the Raubtiers come across it, they come out with the metal melting, reduced to a mere excuse of a skeletal frame.

“That’s supposed to be my job,” Harry says, a little meekly after Blaze puts out the fire with a swift flick of his wrist.

“Can take care of myself, Atlas,” Zayn tells him smartly, smirking. “We need to get out of here, it’ll be fucking manic-”

He’s running, his feet almost as fast as his hands, for once, and Harry trips on his feet a bit before he gets back on his feet, following him as they navigate through the battleground.

“Let’s go,” Paul bellows over the din of noise, and Harry looks over to where Liam’s got two Louis’s holding him up on either side, a slight cut on his forehead and with a busted lip. Either Louis only looks slightly better, one duplicate with a bloodless rip across the front of his uniform, on the chest, the other with a few wounds on his cheeks, the blood smeared and dried across his skin.

“Got caught in a robot crossfire, I’m good,” Liam tells him, sensing the apprehension, and he gives a grin to appease them.

“I’d like it if we got out of here, _now_ ,” Louis No.1 says bitingly, readjusting his grip on Liam’s right side.

“Where’s Niall?” Harry asks, looking up for a sign of Angel.

"He says he's coming in now, he's coming from the other side," Paul answers, fingers up by his temple.

Harry looks over to where Paul's indicating, and he sees Niall swooping down gracefully from around fifty feet up in the air, avoiding the Raubtiers fighting each other and TW below him. He's flying down, and that's when Harry sees it.

"Give me a minute," he says to no one in particular.

"Wha- Harry!"

He's running again, faster than he's ever dared to run before, and he's bounding over to the stairs leading up to the balcony where TW are fending for themselves, going against the Raubtiers that have made their way up to where they are.

He jumps up, several steps at a time, and leaps on to Tom Parker's back, and forces him to tilt his head back, redirecting the beams he was about to hit Niall with.

"Fuck you, mate," Tom spits out, writhing around to get out of Harry's hold, but Harry just scoffs.

Niall turns then, hovering over in the air, and when he sees them, his jaw drops slightly. Harry offers him a small smile, throws Tom off to the side where a few of the mechanical creatures immediately crowd around him.

"We need to go, Ni-"

"Haz!"

The warning's a beat too late. Harry feels a pair of arms go around his middle, gripping him tightly. Before he can even think to get out, a Raubtier's already fired at his side.

_'If I go down, you go down with me,'_ Max George's voice floats in his head, weak and getting weaker still, but still menacing, and his arms loosen around him, and they both fall to the ground.

He's gone. From where he is, Harry can see that Sykes is the last member standing, still fighting, but it's a lost battle, him against at least ten Raubtiers.

Harry doesn't really register the pain. Can't, funnily enough. Looks down, sees his uniform absolutely ruined, and there's blood everywhere. He faintly understands it to be his.

"Harry, fuck, Haz, stay with me-"

Niall. "Hey, you okay?" Harry murmurs, and it feels like the life's being sucked out of him. It's a peculiar feeling, he doesn't like it, in any sense. Can recognize Niall landing next to him, getting down to his knees and his hands cupping his face. His palms are cold. Slightly sweaty.

"Stay with me, don't-"

Niall sounds like he's crying. No. That's not what he wants, at all.

"It's okay, Ni. We're good, Angel," he says quietly, and he thinks he hears Niall let out a sob, but he can't be too sure.

It's going all black.

 

*

 

"Niall-"

"No, I'm not letting this happen," Niall says, shaking off someone's hand off his shoulder, probably Zayn's, and he holds Harry's hand. The pulse is still there on his wrist. Faint, slow, but present. The only signs of life in his still body.

"Ni-"

"Just let me do this," Niall says, teeth gritted, and he looks at the wound from the Raubtier's blast. It's a lot to take in, the deep, large gash on the side of his torso, and it's red everywhere.

He can't let this happen again. Especially not to Harry.

He squeezes his hand into a fist, preparing himself, and he opens it, presses his palm against the open wound, ignoring the warmth spreading under his fingers.

"Niall, what-"

He ignores them all, and focuses on his angel in front of him, almost gone in his arms. Thinks thinks thinks, focuses like anything, and transfers all of his energy to his hand.

"Ni- What the fuck?"

HIs palm glows, so bright that even if his hand is down, the light escapes, seeps through and it's almost enough to blind him.

The energy drains outs of him, and he starts feeling weak, his wings getting heavier on his back, feeling more and more like a burden, but he fights to stay conscious, fights to stay with Harry.

"Niall, come on-"

"No, I have to do this, I can't leave him," he says, and he's sure it doesn't come out more than a whisper. He doesn't let go, though. Still holds on to Harry, energy flowing out from his skin, and he won't let go for anything.

"Niall, what are you doing?"

He doesn't answer. They still don't know enough about his mutation, and they'll find out in a few minutes, in either case.

Soon, Niall knows he's completely depleted, knows he can't give anymore, and his palm stops glowing. He falls forward slightly, his hands on the ground so he doesn't fall on top of Harry, who's still not moving.

"Come on, Haz. Please," Niall murmurs, moving slightly so his face is hovering above Harry's, and he looks like he's deep in sleep. "Please, please. I love you, please."

It's too silent for a minute. There are still Raubtiers around, attacking each other, the clang of metal against metal, but otherwise, there's no other noise. All of TW are on the ground, gone and lifeless. The rest of the team stands a few feet away, watching quietly.

He's still not moving.

"Don't do this, Haz, please," and he's so close to breaking down. He leans down, holds Harry's face in his hands, and he's still warm. Presses his forehead against Harry's, and whispers, "Please."

"Niall-"

"Don't, Finite," he snaps, glaring at the lot of them. He forces down the tears, but he knows it's for naught. Knows that his lips are trembling slightly, his eyes glassy. "Fuck off, just-"

"No need to be so mean, Angel."

Niall's head snaps back down at the soft voice, and Harry's eyes are slightly open, barely there slits, but they're _open_ , he's awake. The smallest of smiles is on his face, just a tiny quirk of his mouth, and he looks so tired, so worn, but he's alive. _Alive_.

" _Harry_ ," he breathes out, and he can't quite believe it.

_It worked. It actually worked._

"Angel," Harry whispers, and his smile widens the slightest bit. It comforts Niall in such a way he can't possibly describe. Can't emphasize it enough.

The others have their jaws dropped down, not quite believing, because Harry was as good as gone not a minute ago. Louis is stuttering, Liam not doing any better. Zayn hasn't spoken, but he's in shock, eyes wide and mouth still dropped. Paul just stares on, and Niall's had an inkling that he's always had his suspicions. Somehow knew that NIall's mutation wasn't limited to the wings on his back and the amount of years he's lived.

"Hey, let's get you out of here," he tells Harry quietly, but he can't seem to move himself. Feels as if there's nothing in his body to get him moving.

Paul recognizes their predicament, and he looks over to Louis, sending over a quiet message, and Louis nods. With a pop, two more clones appear and walk over to where he and Harry are sprawled out on the ground.

"You take care of Haz, Lou, I know you're tired. Come on, Ni," Zayn says quietly, and he brings Niall to his feet, making him sling his arm over his neck, and Blaze's arm around his waist is warm, comforting and stable. Walking is almost unbearable, but he trudges on, and Blaze is so patient with him, not letting him go for a single second. He looks behind him, sees Harry trying to cling on to two Louis's with difficulty, so close to nodding off, two more Louis duplicates carrying Liam behind them, but Lightning looks like he's almost back on his feet proper.

Harry's exposed skin on his side is still smeared red from his blood, but the wound has almost disappeared completely. There's still quite a cut, but it's almost completely closed, nowhere near as bad as before. It makes him breathe out a sigh of relief.

"Amazing job, Zayn," Niall says, can't seem to think of anything else to say, still overwhelmed at almost having lost his own angel, but he knows they wouldn't be here if Zayn hadn't done what he did.

Zayn scoffs, almost laughs, but thankfully realizes it wouldn't be appropriate at the last minute and stops himself, and says softly, "You're the one who made the plan, Niall."

"And it almost-"

"Don't go there," Zayn says, sounding firm, but his tone still quiet and gentle. "I know where you're going. Don't. That's not your fault. You bloody practically brought him back to life, you don't get to do that."

"Okay," Niall doesn't have enough fight in him to reply the way he really wants to. Is feeling physically and emotionally handicapped.

Zayn grips his side a little tighter, as if he were a bloody empath and he can feel the emotion radiating off of Niall, and Niall wants to cry, quite a bit.

He's so tired. Thankful, grateful, happy, accomplished, but tired, for so many reasons.

 

*

 

When Harry wakes up, he thinks he's back in 8, but the walls are too white, everything's too clean, and the bed he's on is too firm. There are machine hooked up to him, and there's an unbearable, searing pain on his left side. When he looks down, he's in one of Liam's T-shirts, he thinks, and under the blanket, joggers he's come to quite like on Niall. Under the top, his torso his bandaged, wrapped up in gauze and smelling of disinfectant and it hurts to move, registers too much pain that he'd rather not deal with.

"Hey."

He looks up, and can't help but smile a little bit when Niall walks towards the bed, looking as if he'd been waiting by the corner of the room for Harry to wake up. He looks tired, dragging his wings behind him as if he hadn't had a good night's sleep in quite some time, but still.

His smile is smaller, but no less bright. His eyes are bloodshot, but they still crinkle up when he's looking at him, still so blue blue blue.

"How are you feeling?" he asks softly, taking the seat next to Harry's bed. Puts his hand right the edge of the mattress, so close, but he doesn't make a motion to touch him.

"Hurts, but I'm okay," he replies, and he wants to reach out and grab on to that hand himself. "Um, where am I?"

"Hospital wing of 8," Niall answers for him. "You passed out when we were going through the tunnel back. You've been out for four days."

"Must have worried you lot, huh?" he says, hoping for a smile, but his attempt at a joke falls flat. The brightness in Niall's eyes diminishes, his smile less genuine, and it's not what Harry intended for, at all.

"Yeah, you did," Niall says shakily, "was beside myself until Paul told me he could still hear you in his head. I thought I'd failed."

"Failed at what, exactly?" Harry asks carefully, because he wants to know what exactly happened, but he has a feeling that it's a subject Niall doesn't really broach often.

Niall looks at him, and it's striking, how exhausted he looks. Harry hasn't known him very long, but he's never had the impression that Niall would let a battle wear him down. Has seen him laugh after group exercises, as if it were child's play (though it probably was, to someone as experienced as him), sometimes cheekily asking if Harry would want to go for a quick fuck in the supply closet right after, but.

He looks. Tired.

"Healing you," Niall answers quietly, his fingers squeezing tight at the sheets of the bed.

"You didn't, though, I'm here," Harry tells him, but Niall shakes his head, a grim look on his face.

"You almost weren't," he says, and he's trembling slightly. "I- I couldn't-"

Harry slides his hands over Niall's, and he rubs his thumb over his knuckles. There are cuts everywhere, souvenirs from the Raubtiers that are almost completely healed, just leaving behind scars.

Harry doesn't want to push him. So he just holds on, gripping a little bit, and when Niall flips his own hand over so they're palm to palm, Harry feels his heart start beating a beat faster. Realizes that this was probably the hand Niall healed him with.

They just sit there in silence, and it's his favorite kind of quiet.

He doesn't expect it when Niall begins to say in a soft voice, "I found out I could do this by accident. I- umm, my teammate got into an accident. On my second team, second mission. His name was Josh, pyrokinetic. He was my best mate at the time, and he was dying, and I couldn't handle it. Tried to keep in the blood with my hands, a few minutes later, he was completely healed.

"I don't really put it out there, that I can heal," he continues, and he interlocks their fingers. Harry holds on tighter. "I don't like abusing it. Don't really mind the energy it takes out of me to do it, it's more of a personal thing. Only use it for people I really care about, and only if I offer. Josh knew that. Never mentioned it, he understood. Knew I didn't want to be used like that."

"Did you heal anyone else?" Harry asks quietly, and he thinks so, so highly of Niall. Even more so now.

"Just one other, until you, but I've tried a few others, quite a few times. I haven't done it a lot, but it's not for lack of trying," Niall tells him, but he doesn't continue.

Harry knows he won't leave it there, so he waits. Keeps thumbing over Niall's skin, hopefully it's comforting.

Niall sighs, and he brings Harry's hand up to his mouth, leaving a soft kiss across his knuckles. Harry feels his heart jump to his throat, and it's a good, good feeling.

"My mam, she'd had tuberculosis for some time," he starts out, and his voice is unsteady, "It took a turn for the worse. I offered to heal her, she was so weak, I. It was brutal, seeing her like that. But she said no. Said she didn't want to be healed. Didn't want to cheat on life. So I didn't, even though I wanted to more than anything. She died a few days after that."

"Niall," Harry says softly, but he doesn't say more. Knows isn't done.

"Greg, my brother. I healed him once, he was in a construction incident a little after my nephew was born. His wife, Denise, begged me to heal him when he was brought to a doctor, when they said he was done for, said he'd have a day, at most. She told me that their son didn't deserve to grow up without a father, and I agreed. Theo was barely a few months old then, and Greg was so, so young. So I healed him, just as he- well. I healed him.

"I thought we were alright. He lived for a long time, long enough for Theo to have his own grandkids, but when the time came, I asked him if he wanted to be healed again."

"And?" Harry prods a little, because Niall had gone silent again. He holds on to his hand tighter.

"He said no," Niall replies. "Said he never should have been healed in the first place. Shouldn't have messed with fate, and a longer life didn't guaranteed a better one. He was thankful for what I did, but healing him did a great injustice."

"He lived to see his son grow, I don't think that's unkind," Harry tells him softly.

"I don't know. I love Greg, but he said there were some things I shouldn't interfere in, just because I've got the ability to doesn't mean I should," he says with a small smile in his face, a tiny shrug off to the side. "And he wasn't wrong."

"Not completely right," Harry answers, and Niall just smiles at him. And Harry, he wants to kiss him, terribly.

"My Da. He passed when I was 26. Stroke," Niall continues, sounding a little more quiet. Harry gets the impression that Niall was very close to his father from what he told him. Niall never says it outrightly, but Harry knows that Bobby Horan was especially close to his heart. "I, um, didn't have the chance at all to heal him. I was away on a mission, Couldn't get back on time."

"Angel," Harry murmurs, and Niall kisses his knuckles again, the act immediately comforting. He keeps his lips pressed against Harry's skin, his eyes closed, and he looks so soft. So tired.

"I can't do anything if they're dead," Niall says against his hand. "I can heal them as long as their heart's still beating, but I can't bring people back from the dead. I missed him by a few days. The next time I saw him, he was in a coffin."

Harry can't take it. He makes himself sit up, the pain on his torso excruciating, and Niall makes a startled noise, tries to convince him to lie back down, but he persists. Sits up, and moves closer to him. Grabs on to his neck and pulls Niall towards him, and places a kiss near the corner of his eye.

"Come on, lie back down," Niall says, sounding shaken and surprised, but not displeased, and Harry can't keep himself up for much longer, in any case. "There was someone else."

Harry waits patiently when he pauses again, and Niall's moved closer to the bed.

"I was part of Team Scandinavia, in 1934," Niall starts, and he's holding his hand again. Gripping a little tighter. "There was this girl on the team with me. Her name was Barbara, codename Lynx, psionic manipulator. She was beautiful, amazing, just. She was everything I wanted, and needed, at the time.

"I loved her like anything, you know?" Niall continues, and he sounds so gentle. Tender, and Harry feels like he's intruding on something. "We were on a mission. An easy one, bank heist. Something we've done quite often. But we didn't, I didn't, count on her getting hurt. We got the job done, but she'd been hit. It was bad.

"I tried healing her, still felt a pulse, faint, but it was there. I did everything I could to make her alright," he says, looking a little distant. "But. As I was transferring my energy to her, her heart. It stopped beating. I was too late."

His voice breaks at the very end, and Harry feels the unpleasant urge to cry, seeing Niall let a few tears leak out. Not much, but.

"I hadn't tried, since her," he goes on to say, wiping away whatever had fallen on his cheeks. "Not until you. And I was so scared that it wouldn't work on you, like it hadn’t on her."

"You were afraid of losing me?" Harry asks him quietly.

"I was, but not the same way when I lost her," Niall replies, and he sounds so earnest, so unfailingly honest. "I was so mad when she died. At everything, especially at myself. Never use this part of my mutation all that often and when I do, it fails. I loved her, and when I couldn't save her, it just made me hurt so much, it made me so angry.

"But if I lost you, Haz," he goes on to say, and he holds on to Harry's hand with both of his, tightly, "I wouldn't be able to handle it. Not because I lost someone else, because everyone will lose someone, at one point in their lives. I learned that early on. I came to peace with it, because of the amount of friends and allies I've seen go. It's the fact that it's _you_ , and you're everything. You're my reason, every reason that matters, and it's selfish, but I didn't want to be in a world without you in it. I- I haven't met anyone like you, and to lose you. I don't want to think about it. I don't."

Harry stares at him, at his blue eyes, looking into his so honestly, and he feels his chest throb and the sudden urge to cry again is making his eyes water.

He thinks the same way about Niall. Wouldn't know what to do with himself if ever he lost him.

"I love you. So much. It might not mean anything to you," _No, that's not true_ , "but to me, it's all I have, and I wouldn't ask for more. So to just have you be around, alive. It's the best thing. So I'm sorry, if me loving you is an inconvenience. Sorry if I distracted you. But I don't regret anything, nothing. I'm so thankful that I got to be part of this team, if just for the fact that I got to know you. I love you. God, I love you."

" _Ni_ ," he breathes out, and he's crying. Tears running down his face, and he's not beyond whimpering. He doesn't know what's stopping him, from saying those words back to him, because he knows how he feels. Knows he loves Niall, so so so much. Knows of anything he's felt, this is the truest, most genuine thing he knows. But he can't, physically can't, like his words are all lodged up in his throat. Can't even say his name properly.

Niall gets up from his seat and leans down to hold him. Gathers him up in his arms and tucks his chin on Harry's shoulder, and they stay like that for such a long while.

Harry hugs back, wrapping his arms around Niall's waist as best as he could, and he cries still. When Niall makes to move away, he whines, and moves slightly to kiss him. Just a soft press of his lips against Niall's mouth, and he tries to convey what he physically can't say through it.

Angel kisses back, just slightly, and Harry can taste his own tears.

"Thank you for that, love," Niall tells him quietly against his mouth. "You didn't need to."

_No, Niall. No-_

“I’ll keep that with me. Go rest up,” Niall says, moving away, and he smiles, so so tenderly, and Harry loves him, so much.

Niall kisses his forehead, short and sweet, and he leaves with one last smile.

Harry keeps in the rest of his tears until he’s sure Niall’s gone off, then he lets it all out.

It kind of feels like a goodbye.

 

*

 

Niall only stops walking once he’s reached that corridor going back to Winston, and that’s where he breaks.

He stops in his tracks, and he cries, unable to keep the tears from coming out.

“Ni?”

He glances up, and Louis is there, undoubtedly going up to visit Harry in the hospital wing, walking slowly towards him, and he just cries even more, hiding his face in his hands and his breath hitching in his throat. He feels himself get enveloped in a hug, and Louis is quiet for once as he holds him, just lets him cry and wail and he’s so, so tired.

He’s always hated letting go. This one, though. It’s painful in a way he’s not accustomed to, and it kills him, a little.

 

*

 

The boys visit him, one by one, throughout the next few days.

Louis had come in, maybe an hour after Niall had left, and there’s an array of cuts and bruises on him, a combination of all the injuries his clones had gotten in the mission, “ _clumsy git, I am_.” He was subdued, more gentle, and had kept quiet, knowing that he just needed company. Harry could tell that he knew, somewhat, of what had transpired between him and Niall, and he could not be more grateful that he hadn’t brought it up. It was too soon.

Zayn brought him breakfast the next day, one of those grease-laden, rich in sodium fast food sandwiches, a breakfast roll, and plenty of hash browns. Harry had never been more thankful to see a McDonald’s bag in his life.

Blaze ended up staying the day in the wing, ordering in a just as unhealthy lunch for them both, and they just talked, watched a few Marvel movies on the posh TV screen Zayn installed in less than half a minute. Had kept a running commentary on the tech in the films, scoffing and rolling his eyes often, throwing out an _“Honestly, not that difficult to make, you just have to..._ ” every now and then.

Harry knew that Zayn had found out what had happened the day before, but he had kept quiet about it as well. Knowing him, he’d probably already talked to Niall about it, but Harry still wasn’t quite ready to talk about it yet. And Zayn seemed to understand that, so whenever it looked like he was about to bring it up, he’d turn the conversation away from it and instead, “ _Fucking- It doesn’t work that way, Banner, don’t-_ ”

Liam comes over early on the third day since he woke up, one mug of coffee, one teacup in either of his hands.

“Why do you look like you haven’t fought, at all?” Harry asks him, accepting the tea offered to him with a murmured thank you, and it’s true. Liam has no cuts, no bruises, no injuries of any kind that would indicate that he had to be helped out of the battlefield by two Louis duplicates.

“The mutation lets me heal up real quick,” Liam replies, smiling widely as he takes the seat next to the bed. “How you feeling?”

“I’m better,” Harry answers, and he does. Physically, more of, but he hopes his heart isn’t too far behind. “Thanks for lending me your shirts.”

“It’s nothing,” he waves it off, still smiling. “Seeing as neither you or Niall have got any comfortable tops, and I am the closest one to your size. It was either I lent it to you, or you’d have to be given a hospital gown.”

“Christ, _thank you_ ," Harry says, and Liam laughs.

"Niall made me do it," Liam tells him, and it sounds careful, cautious, and it makes Harry stops mid-sip. The tea burns on his tongue, but it's just the way he likes it. _Exactly_ the way he likes it.

"Chai?"

"Niall made it for you," Liam says, and it's still careful, but gentle.

Harry nods, and he holds the cup close to his face, but makes no move to drink more from it.

It's quiet for a while, Liam taking small sips from his coffee, and it's a strange silence.

"I love him," he says, and it's the first time he's admitting it out loud. It occurs to him, how strange it is, that he's saying it now, to Liam, who caught them in their first kiss, their first conversation. How it's Liam and not the person who should be hearing it in the first place.

"Okay," Liam replies, and his voice is void of any judgement, but Harry can tell, can practically hear the nonverbal _Well, we all knew that. Nothing new._

"I haven't told him," Harry adds on, putting down the tea on the bedside table. His hands are shaking too much. "I should have told him a few days ago, when he said it to me, but I couldn't. I wanted to, so badly, but I didn't."

"Are you sure you really do love him?" Liam asks, and it's slow, as if he's expecting Harry to react violently. He would, if he weren't still unable to move his torso all that much. "Maybe you're just grateful, because he saved you?"

"No," Harry says, and it's firm and sure. "I've always loved him. I should have told him when he first said it to me. When he kissed me, that first time, or whenever we'd have our late night tea, or after my power development sessions when we'd walk back to our rooms. I love him, so much I almost can't take it."

"Okay," Liam repeats, and he smiles, as if he had already known what Harry was going to say. "But honestly, Haz. I'm not the person you should be saying this to."

"I know, and," Harry cuts himself off, gritting his teeth because _fuck_ , he had thought that he was all out of tears, what with the amount of crying he'd done these past few days whenever he was alone, but apparently not. “Liam, I. I love him.”

" _We know_ , Harry," Liam tells him, and it sounds fond, no hint of aggravation or annoyance. "And we think you should let him know, too."

" _God_ ," Harry can't help it; he bursts into tears again, and he's so exhausted. If only it were that easy. If only Niall would visit him again, look him in the eye again. His side hurts from the crying, but he doesn't care, just covers his face with his hands and lets it all out. Just cries and he knows he's pathetic. Knows that things would be better if he just said it to Niall, but.

He doesn't even know anymore. If this will fix things. He's such a fucking idiot.

Liam comes around to fold his arms around him, and it just makes him remember Angel holding him, for what felt like the last time, and it hurts more than he'd ever want to admit.

 

*

 

Niall tries to avoid seeing Harry. Doesn't come into the room, tries to let him rest and recuperate, tries to let himself get used to the separation.

It doesn't stop him from making his way over to the wing and wait by the reception area, though. From making sure he got a change of clothes and food that he'd like and his milk and honey tea and anything that will make him comfortable.

He ignores the sad looks the staff, the boys give him. He's well aware he's just going to get even more hurt in the end when it's really over, but he'd like to take what he can get, while he still can. Still wants to care for Harry, in the ways it's still possible for him to.

It's stupid. He's being stupid. But.

He'd woken up later than usual today, just a little after ten. Rushed through breakfast and made his way to the hospital wing, but someone was already in the room with Harry.

"Cal," he walks over to the reception desk, where Cal was temporarily filling in for Lou, who was on leave because her own daughter started showing signs of mutation (" _Her hair turned blue the other day, she probably inherited my powers, this is going to be a bloody nightmare-_ "). Cal looks up at him, and he's trying to look neutral, indifferent, but it's quite shit. Niall can see the sadness in his eyes, the slight downturn of his mouth. "Who's in the room?"

"Dunno, but she looked lovely," he lies, Niall can so tell, but he lets it go. Doesn't want to know what Cal's seen for the future, would rather find out for himself.

"Niall," he calls out just as Niall's turning away, "I'm sorry."

"It's alright. It's done," Niall says, but Cal looks like he's not so convinced. " _Fucking_ \- So it's not-"

"Don't give up on him," is all Cal tells him, and Niall softens at that, a little of his already weak resolve crumbling.

"I love the idiot, why would I," Niall murmurs, more to himself than anything, and he sees Cal smile a bit at him. But he knows at one point, he's going to have to let him go, whether it's now, romantically, or in the future, when he outlives him, and he's not really looking forward to either prospect.

But about the latter. Zayn had called him into the lab the other day, after reviewing the post-mission check-up results. Had asked for some DNA samples of every sort: blood, hair, spit, the unmentionables.

Had given him some news that were a little hard to digest.

"Ni, your cells are, um. Aging faster than the usual. Your usual, at least," Blaze had told him, handing him a copy of the results. "It's aging at almost the same rate of normal DNA now, and I did some research and studying into it, and, um. In layman's terms, the reason you've been able to live this long was because you reserved most of your energy. It's also in your mutation, but whenever you healed, that would set you back, years, decades, I don't know. Depends on how much energy you use.

"When you healed Harry, you used up too much," Zayn told him tentatively, and he's looking at Niall a little sadly.

"It was worth it," Niall had said then, quietly but fiercely.

"It was," Zayn agreed, "but. It took a lot out of you. Your immortality, well, if I'm reading these results right, it's actually non-existent now."

"So you're telling me I have an actual expiration date now?" Niall had asked after a minute or two of silence. He didn't quite know how to react.

"It's not for awhile, normal cells still develop at least 37% faster than yours, but essentially. You won't live forever," Zayn had answered, and he had sounded sorry. So sad.

Niall was as well, to be fair. He liked life, wanted to keep on living it, but. He'd also had too many years already, it didn't seem quite fair for him to take much more.

An he did still have time. Just not as much, but it was fine.

"That's okay," he had said, and Zayn looked so surprised. "That's fine. Never was going to live forever anyway. It's okay."

"Niall," Zayn had breathed out, and Niall just smiled back.

It was hard. It will be hard. But it's okay, it honestly is.

Niall had just sat down in the reception area when the door to Harry's room opens, and a woman comes out, looking as if she'd been crying continuously for at least a few hours.

She sits down at the end of the bench, and sniffles as she looks through her purse, huffing out a bit and muttering about how she can't find her tissue.

"Would you like to borrow a handkerchief?" Niall asks quietly, because he hates it when he sees anyone crying.

She looks up from her bag, and when she sees him, her eyes widen, her mouth drops open a little bit.

_Of course_ , Niall sighs inwardly. _Keep forgetting about these fucking wings-_

"He wasn't joking," she whispers quietly, giving Niall a once-over. "You do look like an actual angel."

Niall blinks at that. "I'm sorry-"

"I'm Anne, I'm Harry's mum," she introduces herself, holding out her hand and giving him a warm smile. She reminds him so much of Harry. Her smile, especially. It makes his heart ache a little, meeting the person most important to his love. He feels so privileged, and yet.

He takes her hand in greeting, not really knowing what to do. "I'm-"

"Niall, of course," she says, still smiling and looking impossibly happy. "Harry talked for hours about you."

"He did?" Niall doesn't know what else to say. Feels a tight ache spread across his chest, and it's a weird, not entirely unpleasant feeling.

"Couldn't stop," Anne tells him, and she grins at him, pulls him towards her so he's forced to move along the bench, get closer to her. "You are so, so special to him. He- well, you know."

Niall actually doesn't know. Doesn't know what Harry really thinks, doesn't know what his mother thinks, feels like he doesn't know anything, at all.

"Is he doing well?" Niall asks her quietly, hands folded in his lap, quite doesn't know what to do with them.

"You haven't visited him? Not since he woke up?" she asks him, a little surprised. "He told me you were the first person to come see him, and I've asked the staff, they said that you've been here everyday-"

"I haven't gone in since that first day," Niall admits, "I, um. I don't know if he would want to see me."

She goes quiet at the admission, but she doesn't look disappointed. Not as far as Niall can see. She looks at him, and she tells him, "Niall, I don't know what my son told you that day I called, when you had a falling out. He won't tell me. Always shuts down when I try to ask, but. Thank you for loving him. It might not seem a lot, coming from me, but thank you. I know he feels the same way. I don't know what else to say. Just, as a mother, to have someone like you love my Harry. It is such a privilege. Thank you."

Niall doesn't, can't look at her. Stares down at his lap, blinking away the tears that come away. It's overwhelming, to hear her say this.

"Thank you for bringing him to me," Niall tells her quietly, and the ache in his chest is almost unbearable. "I love him. Always will. I'll always hold him close to my heart. And, I'm sorry. Sorry I- he got hurt even though I said he wouldn't."

"He wouldn't be here if you didn't-"

"Still," he says, and they don't quite get it. They say Harry's still here because he brought him back, but the point was that he got hurt in the first place, because he was trying to look out for Niall. That's on him. If he didn't have that part of his mutation, Harry would've been gone. And it's not the only thing he'd done wrong throughout this thing. "I'm sorry. I distracted him, I'm sorry-"

He cuts himself off, head bowed and biting his lip to try to hide that he was crying, but she notices anyway. She slides a hand across his back, careful around his wings, and she stays with him. Stays with him as he cries and he can't be bothered to be embarrassed about breaking down in front of his not-quite-boyfriend's mother.

"You never distracted him," she tells him quietly. "He cannot emphasize enough that you are everything to him. You kept him moving forward. I cannot thank you enough for that."

It's surprisingly freeing, to cry. The pain in his chest dissipates the slightest bit, and it's comforting. To think that his love wasn't completely useless, if not for the confirmation that even for just a while, he had been part of Harry's reason.

Eventually, he knows. It will still hurt, but it will get easier.

 

*

 

The relevance of Cal's warning makes itself known a few days later after Niall had met Anne.

Harry left with his mother, having been given an okay from Paul about finishing his rehabilitation process outside of 8, and Niall and everyone else found out when they had already left.

Niall feels more sad about it than anything. Wishes he could have said goodbye properly, now that he's not even sure if Harry's coming back since he heard from one of the techs that the Styles's were still considering on whether or not Harry would rejoin the team once he was completely healed. That they'd missed the deadline on which they were supposed to confirm on whether or not Harry would be returning as Atlas.

They hadn't heard from him since.

Niall's trying not to be too stroppy about it, but the boys, and everyone else, give him too much leeway.

Zayn lets him touch whatever he wants in the lab. Had resulted in him spilling tea (chai, milk and honey) on one of the plans for the new fighter jets, and Blaze didn't even get mad. Just looked at him sadly, like when he broke the news to Niall that his years were limited, and Niall kind of wanted to throw the rest of the tea down Zayn's kit. It's not that mean, because it wasn't even that hot anymore

Liam kept trying to chat him up during gym time, and almost ended up dropping one of the weights on Niall's foot, but had caught it literally a millisecond before it landed. Had apologized profusely, brought him to the wing and they stayed there the entire session, though Niall insisted he was fine. Liam had made him a snack, cooked dinner for him, made him tea the way he thought Niall wanted it (English Breakfast; he'll take it this one time), just to try to make it up to him even if Niall really wasn't mad at all.

Louis was probably the worst. He'd practically spoonfed Niall everything from the recon sessions, and Niall knew that recon was Louis's least favorite part about the entire training process. He's come to be fine with it, sure, but power development and gym time were where he really put the most efforts. And he wouldn't touch the subject about Harry at all, just kept asking about stories he'd already heard from Niall's past, kept trying to distract him from his loneliness by following him everywhere and NIall appreciates it, he does, but _christ_.

Even Paul had let him have an entire week off, and an offer to fly off back to Ireland and no one complained that their boss had just told Niall to take a vacation when the rest of them were still stuck working, and Niall kind of wanted to take him up on that offer, if just to escape all their nagging and concern.

And probably the thing that Niall can't emphasize enough but no one seems to take him seriously for it is the fact that he _understand_ s why Harry had to leave. Had felt that too, so many times, when he was first being put into teams, when teams were still a new idea. Understands that being part of a team can give you so much, but will in turn take so much, sometimes to the point where you don't know yourself anymore without the rest of your teammates. It's not a bad thing, but remembering the reasons you came to fight in the first place, and remembering who you are when you decided to join, are just as important.

He understands that Harry would want to remember those as well, and figure out who he is without the  interference of the team, his mutation, even Niall himself. He honestly, truly gets it.

It doesn't make it hurt any less, though.

 

*

 

"We can help you clean up, if you want, Ni," Liam says, bringing over the last of the dishes to the sink. They've been taking turns washing the dishes since the dishwasher broke down a week ago (Louis was no longer allowed near the appliances, as per Paul's instructions).  

"No, it's fine," Niall says, not mentioning that the boys have hardly let him do anything in the three weeks that Harry's been on indefinite leave. "I like a bit of work. You go rest up, I know Paul put you through the ringer today."

"You sure?" Liam asks, but he sounds like he's half-gone, already inching towards the door where Zayn and Louis had gone through maybe a few minutes earlier, Louis still looking like he was in a strop because he wasn't even allowed to touch the refrigerator, Zayn with an unlit cigarette in his mouth ready for a smoke.

"Yeah, it's fine," he says, and it's with a smile and a quick kiss on his temple that Liam finally goes, leaving Niall in the kitchen to wash up.

It's been hard, without Harry. Their dynamic as a group had shifted dramatically in the time since he's left. They still work unbelievably well with one another, are still as in sync as they were, but it's been different.

More than anything, though, Niall just hopes he's okay. He'd like an update, being honest, about what he's been doing and how his condition is and everything, but Niall doesn't really expect it, at this point.

As much as he loves Harry, he won't let himself expect much anymore. Just wants him to be happy.

He stretches his wings behind him as he rinses off the plates, curses to himself because as delicious as spag bol is, it’s bloody difficult to wash off of cutlery and plates, even moreso off the sponge, dyed red from the sauce before the first plate was even really clean. He’s kind of wishing he had let Liam help out by the time he’s cleaning between the prongs of the forks.

He sighs, loudly, and he pauses and washes off the soap suds in his hands, nowhere near finished with the dishes, and he's just not in the mood.

“I can do the rest, if you’d like.”

He freezes up when he hears the voice, so achingly familiar. Low, raspy and slow, deep and it sounds like home.

He hears and feels Harry walk up to the sink, but he doesn’t turn to look at him, not even when Harry comes up right next to him, almost touching him but not quite.

He eases the sponge out of Niall’s death grip, slowly, carefully, from where his fists are clenched on the edges of the counter.

“How are you?” Harry asks quietly, and Niall still can’t come to terms that he’s _there_ , he's actually there and trying to start a conversation and washing the dishes and.

"I'm okay," Niall replies, movies a little off to the side so Harry could wash up properly. He looks up then, and Harry looks so good. His hair seems longer, with a deep side part and soft waves, curling up more towards the ends. He looks somewhat softer, and Niall can tell that's because he hasn't been going to the gym, but he doesn't really mind. Feels like if he were to press his hand upon Harry's hip, it would give just a bit more, and he closes his eyes at the thought, on the slow spread of this fucking tight sensation across his chest.

His eyes are still the same. Jade green and bright. His smile is smaller, but no less warm.

Niall loves him. He never stopped, try as he might. Can't help it, but it's the way it is.

"How are you?" Niall asks him in turn, watching Harry soap up the dishes and rinsing them off under the steady stream of the faucet.

"I'm all good, I start training again in a few days," Harry answers, and Niall feels his heart jump to his throat.

_So he's coming back._

"Your wound-"

"All good," Harry says again, and he's staring at Niall now. "I never got to properly thank you. For healing me. I know it must have taken a lot out of you-"

"It's alright Harry," Niall says, waving him off. "You were worth it."

"You really sure about that?" Harry mutters to himself, and Niall can't really help but get a little mad, because-

"Yeah, I'm sure. You were worth it," Niall tells him firmly, if maybe a little angrily.

"Yeah?" Harry looks at him again, and he looks like he's tearing up a bit, and _no, don't_. "Zayn called me when I was on break. Told me about your accelerated aging. I did that to you. I took away years you could have had."

"Harry," Niall starts gently, and really, he's going to have words with Blaze about not interfering in his life. "I'll still have a long life. I'll probably outlive you-"

"But I took from you, Niall-"

" _I gave it_ , Harry," he says, and he holds his wrist gently, tries to get him to understand. "I gave you my years, and I wouldn't want anyone else to have gotten them. I'm done talking about this. I'd give you every year I had left if I had to, so I refuse for you to feel bad about this. Please."

Harry stares at him, not moving, and Niall just looks back.

"I hurt you."

"It didn't hurt-"

" _I hurt you,_ when I said what I said before," he explains, and he pauses. Takes a deep, shuddering breath. "I'm sorry. You gave me everything even if I didn't deserve it."

"It's done," Niall says, and he appreciates that Harry's apologizing for something that truly did hurt him, but it's beside the point now. "Either way, Haz, I would have healed you. I had too many years on my plate anyway."

"Then why'd you give them to me?" Harry asks him, and it's quiet, barely heard.

Niall just stares at him, and answers, feeling the stupid painful urge to cry, but he tamps it down, "Because I loved you."

"Past tense?" Harry asks, sounding and looking small.

Niall's heart aches a little at his tone, and he shakes his head in denial. "No-"

"I love you. Every tense."

Niall was quite sure that time had stopped. That maybe the world was fucking with him a bit, to throw him off.

"I love you," Harry repeats, and he's shut off the water now, facing Niall and looking vulnerable.

"Do," he tries to begin to say, but the words get caught up in his throat. He coughs a bit, tries to get it out, "Do you- Please say you mean that."

Harry doesn't say anything. Just comes forward and holds Niall's face in his hands and kisses him. It's not perfect, not with the way Harry's hands are soaking wet and sudsy on his skin, and Harry doesn't land completely on his lips, but it doesn't matter. He kisses back, lets himself hold on to Harry's waist, which _does_ give a bit, satisfyingly so, and he feels like his chest is about to burst, for the very best reasons.

"Took you long enough," Niall mumbles against his mouth, and Harry laughs a little. 

"I'm sorry Angel," he says, nuzzling his nose against Niall's. "I'm sorry I made you wait over two hundred years."

It's meant as a joke, Niall's sure. But there's a lack of sarcasm, of any sort of tone that would make it seem like one. It certainly doesn’t feel like a joke, with the way it makes him feel. And Harry's looking at him so tenderly, so softly, and he feels his heart jump to his throat, threatening to let out every nonsensical word he can think of because what can he say.

Quite feels like flying and touching the sky, that first time.

"Worth it," is what his brain supplies him with, and. It is all he can say.

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote most of the first few parts when Paul was still there. I decided to keep him in because I'd written too much of him in, and, well, no one else could be Steel. Apologies for any discrepancies for the British political system and any systems of the like. I'm not actually from there, so I worked with what I knew.
> 
> And thank you.
> 
> (I do have a tumblr, but then again, I'm not very active over there, so. I guess I don't have a tumblr. Cheers.)
> 
> (Title from [here](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Okn0WpJqgHE))


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